• 


c:j 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

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OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


FROM  THE  LIBRARY  OF 

JIM  TULLY 

GIFT  OF 
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MEMOIRS  OF  THE  LIFE  OF  THE  RIGHT 
HOXORABLE  RICHARD  BRIXSLEV  SHERl- 
DAX.  Bj-  Thomas  Moore.  Two  volumes  in 
one.  12mo.,  cloth,  gold  and  black,  with  steel 
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SKETCHES  OF  THE  IRISH  BAE.  By  the 
Right  Honoi-able  Richard  Lalor  Shiel,  M.  P., 
with  Memoir  and  Notes  by  K.  Shelton,  Mack- 
enzie, D.  C.  L.  12mo.,  cloth,  gold  and  black, 
with  steel  portrait.    S1.50. 

THE  LIFE  OF  THE  RIGHT  HONORABLE 
JOHN  PHILPOT  CURRAN,  late  Master  of  the 
Rolls  in  Ireland.  By  his  son,  William  Henry 
Curran,  with  additions  and  notes  by  R.  Shelton 
Mackenzie,  D.  C.  L.  12mo.,  cloth,  gold  and 
black,  with  steel  portrait.    S1.50. 

PERSONAL  SKETCHES  OF  HIS  OWN 
TIMES.  By  Sir  Jonah  Barrington,  Judge  of 
the  High  Court  of  AdmiraUty  in  Ireland,  etc., 
etc.  12mo.,  cloth,  gold  and  black,  with  illustra- 
tions by  Barley.    -SI. 50. 

'98  and  '48.  THE  MODERN  REVOLUTION- 
ART  HISTORY  AND  LITERATURE  OF  IRE- 
LAND. By  John  Savage.  Fourth  Edition, 
with  an  Appendex  and  Index.  12mo.,  cloth, 
gold  and  black.    Sl.50. 

BITS  OF  BLARNEY.  Edited  by  R.  Shelton 
Mackenzie,  D.  C.  L.,  Editor  of  Shiel's  Sketches 
of  the  Irish  Bar,  etc.  12mo.,  cloth,  gold  and 
black.    §1.50. 


'*«,, 


■'SlJ 


^1 


Sit 


Lpd 


THE    LIFE 


—  OF— 


THE  RIGHT  HONORABLE 


John  Philpot  Curran, 


LATE  MASTER  OF  THE  ROLLS  IN  IRELAND. 


HIS  SON 

WILLIAM    HENRY   CURRAN, 

WITH  ADDITIONS  AND  NOTES  BY 

R.  SHELTON   MACKENZIE,  D.  C.  L 


CHICAGO : 

Union  Catholic   PruLisiiiNG  Company. 

MDCCCLX.XMI. 


.viANUFACTURED    BY 

DONOHUE  &  Henneberry, 

CHICAGO.       ' 


94 


EDITOR'S    PREFACE 


-<*- 


John  Philpot  Cuj?r\n,  one  of  the  truest  patriots  and  greatest  men 
ever  native  of  Iri^*l  soil,  was  the  centre  of  the  sparkling  wits,  the 
renowned  orators,  W-.i  bi  lU»Jit  advocates,  and  the  honored  statesmen  who 
flashed  upon  the  darliness  of  his  country's  latest  hours  or  freedom,  and 
vainly  endeavored  to  maintain  the  national  independence  which  they  had 
achieved  for  her.  His  life  is  identified  with  the  latest  years  of  Ireland's 
nationality.  He  manifested  an  independence  as  advocate  for  the  accused, 
during  the  State  Trial"  which  "idea'^ec'  him  to  the  people  from  whose 
ranks  he  sprung.  To  use  ^he  words  of  Thomas  Davis  (who  resembled  hira 
in  many  things),  he  was  "  a  companion  unrivalled  in  .sympathy  and  wit ; 
an  orator,  whose  thoughts  went  forth  like  ministers  of  nature,  with  robes  of 
light  and  swords  in  their  Jands ;  a  patriot,  who  battled  best  wnen  the  flag 
was  trampled  down  ;  and  a  genuine  earnest  man,  breathing  of  his  climate, 
his  country,  and  his  time.'-' 

He  has  been  fortunate  in  his  biographers.  The  life  by  his  Son  (who  ia 
yet  living),  contains  materials  which  were  inaccessible  to  other  writers. 
Also  came  a  volume  of  Recollections  by  Charles  Phillips,  who  know  hira  well 
in  his  later  years— a  work  which,  greatly  enlarged,  was  republished  a  few 
years  ago,  with  all  the  charm  of  novelty.    Later  still  appeared  the  Memoir, 


840G85 


VI  PliEFACE. 

by  Thcmas  Davis,  prefixed  to  his  edition  of  Curraa  s  Speecaes — a  brilliant 
but  brie'  tribute  by  one  honest  and  gifted  man  to  the  worth  and  memory 
of  another.  Anterior  to  all  these  is  the  ]\rcmoir,  by  William  O'Regan  (the 
friend  and  contemporary  of  Curran,  and  often  engaged  with  him  in  the 
same  causes),  written  during  Curran's  lifetime,  with  his  knowledge.  If  net 
with  his  direct  sanction,  and  published  within  six  weeks  after  his  death — 
a  book  little  known,  but  full  of  interesting  personal  details  and  abounding 
with  anecdotal  and  other  illustrations  of  Curran's  wit. 

It  appeared  to  me  that  there  was  sufficient  in  the  cai"3.r  miO  "baracter 
of  Curran  to  interest  not  only  the  members  of  his  own  pr^fesaion  but  a 
large  number  of  general  readers  in  this  country.  I  have  therefore 
taken  the  life  by  his  Son,  and  without  alteraiioii.-  ^r  omissions,  have 
introduced  a  large  quantity  of  new  matter,  principally  relating  to  his 
legislative  and  personal  life.  These  additions  will  be  found  between 
brackets,  and,  with  the  notes  which  I  have  occasionally  found  it  requi- 
site to  add,  have  made  the  Memoir  more  nil",  of  interast  than  any  yet 
presented. 

In  the  Appendix  I  have  placed  a  few  specimens  ol  'b"  wit  with  which 
Curran  and  his  friends  were  wont  "to  set  the  table  in  a  roar." 

The  portrait  which  embellishes  this  work  is  a  characteristic  likeness,  by 
Comerford,  of  Dublin,  now  for  the  first  time  engraved  in  this  country,  and 
little  knuwn  even  in  Irela  ~d. 

R.  Sbelton  Mackenshe. 


CONTENTS 


-<•>- 


CHAPTER    I. 

Mr.  Curran's  origin — His  parents —Early  education — Originally  intended  'or  the  Church — 
Enters  Trinity  College — His  ardour  for  the  classics — Letter  to  Mr.  Stack— Anecdote  of 
nis  Mother — Her  Epitaph— While  in  College  fixes  on  the  Bar — Anecdote  connected  with 
the  change  of  Profession — His  character  in  College — Addicted  to  Metaphysics — Anec- 
dote on  the  subject — Verses  to  Apjohn 1 

CHAPTER    II. 

Mr.  Curran  leaves  College — Enters  the  Middle  Temple — Letter  to  Mr.  Weston — Letter  to 
Mr.  Keller — His  first  attempts  in  Oratory  fail — His  own  account  of  the  failure,  and  of 
his  first  success — A  regular  attendant  at  Debating  Clubs — Anecdotes — His  Poem  on 
Jriendship — Dr.  Creagh's  character  of  him — Mr.  Hudson's  prediction-,  and  friendship — 
His  early  manners  and  habits — Subject  to  constitutional  melan-.-'joly — Letters  from 
London — His  society  in  London — Anecdote  of  his  interview  with  Macklin — His  early 
application  and  attainments — Favorite  authors — Early  attachment  to  the  Irish  peas- 
antry— His  marriage — Remarks  upon  the  English  Law IT 

CHAPTER    III. 

Mr.  Curran  called  to  the  Irish  Bar — Dissimilarities  between  that  an""  He  English  Bar- 
Causes  of  the  DitTerence 68 

CHAPTER    IV. 

Mr.  Curran's  early  success  at  the  bar — His  contest  with  Judge  Robinson — His  defence  of 
a  Roraar.  Catholic  priest — His  duel  with  Mr.  St.  Leger — Receives  the  dying  benediction 
of  the  priest — Lord  Avonmore's  friendship — His  character  of  Loni  Avonmore — .Monks 
of  St.  Patrick,  and  ist  of  the  original  members — Anecdotes  of  Lord  Avonmore — Mr. 
Curran's  entrance  into  Parliaa.ec'. 69 


•  <  • 


Tin  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER    V. 

The  Irish  Houiie  of  Commons,  in  17S8 — Sketch  of  the  previous  history  of  Ireland — Effects 
of  the  revolution  of  16SS  Catholic  penal  code — System  of  governing  Ireland— Described 
by  Mr.  Curran— Intolerance  and  degradation  of  the  Irish  parliament — Change  of  sys- 
tem— Octennial  bill — American  revolution — I.s  effects  upor  Ireland — The  Irish  voii'n- 
teers — Described  by  Mr.  Curran — ^Their  nu-abers,  and  inf  I'^nce  upon  public  measures 
— Irish  revolution  of  1782 — Mr.  Grattrns  public  services — Observations  upon  the  sub- 
sequent conduct  of  the  Irish  parliament 87 

CHAPTER   VI. 

il/. Bloods  ^.^an  of  Parliamentary  Reform —Mr,  Curran's  contest  and  duei  with  Mr.  Fitz- 
gi^bon  (afterwards  Lord  Clare) — Spe-'ch  on  Pensions — His  professional  success — Mode 
of  life — Occasional  verses — Visits  "ranee — Letters  from  Dieppe  ana  Rouen — Anecdo'e 
— ^Letters  from  =aris— Anecdote — Letter  from  Mr.  Boyst — Anecdote  of  Mr.  Boyse — Let- 
ters from  Holland 106 

CHAPTER    VII. 

His  Maj'isty's  illness— Communicated  to  the  House  of  Commons — Mr.  Curran's  speech 
upon  the  Address— Regency  question — Formation  of  the  Irish  Whig  opposition — Mr. 
Curran's  speech  and  motion  upon  the  division  of  the  boards  of  stamps  and  accounts — 
Answered  by  Sir  Boyle  Roche — Mr.  Curran's  reply — Correspondence  i,nd  duel  with 
Major  Hobart — Effects  of  Lord  Clare's  enmity — Alderman  Howison's  case 134 

CHAPTER    VIII. 

State  of  parties— Trial  of  Hamilton  Rowan--Mr.  Curran's  fidelity  to  his  party— Rev. 
William  Jackson's  Trial,  Conviction,  and  Death — Remarks  upon  that  Trial — Irish 
Informers— Irish  Juries — The  it'uence  of  the  times  upon  Mr.  Curran's  style  of 
Oratory 166 

CHAPTER    IX. 

Catholic  Emancipation— Mr.  Curran  moves  an  address  to  the  Throne  for  a  :  inquiry  into 
the  state  of  the  poor— Other  Parliamentary  questions — Mr.  Ponsonby's  plan  of  Reform 
rejected— Secession  of  Mr.  Curran  and  his  friends — Orr's  trial— Pinnerty's  trial — Fin- 
ney's Trial — The  informer,  James  O'Brien 195 


CONTENTS.  IS 

CHAPTER    Ji. 

Rebe.HcD  of  179'^ — Its  causes-  Unpopular  system  of  GoveiT.m°al  — IiiQueuce  of  the 
French  revolution — Increased  ntelltgence  in  Ireland — Reform  societies— United  Irish- 
men— Their  views  and  proceedings — Apply  for  aid  to  France — Anecdote  of  Theobald 
Wolfe  Tone — Numbe/s  of  the  United  Irishmen — Condition  of  the  peasantry  and  conduct 

of  the  aristocracy — Measuri.s  of  the  Government — Public  alarm — General  insurrec- 
tion      234 

CHAPTER    XI. 
Trial  of  Henry  and  John  Sheares 265 

CIIAPTKRXII. 

Trials  of  M'Cann,  Hyrno,  and  Oliver  Bond — Reynolds  the  informer— Lord  Edward  ""'tz;- 
gerald — Hi_  attainder — Mr.  Curran'a  con<Iuct  upon  the  State  Trials — Lord  Kilwardcn's 
friendship— Lines  addressed  by  Mr.  Curran  to  Lady  Charlotte  Rawdon— Theobald 
Wolfe  Tone— His  trial  and  death 298 

CHAPTER    XIII. 

Effects  of  the  Legislative  Union  upon  Mr.  Curran'a  mind— Speech  in  Tandy's  case— Speech 
In  behalf  of  Hevey— Alhision  in  the  latter  to  Mr.  Godwin— Mutual  friendship  of  Mr. 
Ourrau  and  Mr.  Godwin , 818 

CHAPTER    XIV. 

Mr.  Curran  visits  Paris— Letter  to  his  son— Insurrection  of  1S03— Defence  of  Kirwan — 
Death  of  Lord  Kilwarden— Intimacy  of  Mr.  Robert  Emmettin  Mr.  Curran's  family,  and 
itsconsequences— Letter  from  Mr.  Emraett  to  Mr.  Curran--Letter  from  the  same  to  Mr. 
Richard  Curran 388 

CHAPTER    XV. 

Mr.  Curran  s  don.estio  affairs— Forensic  efforts— Appointed  Master  of  the  Rolls  in  Ireland 
— Uis  literary  projects— Letter  to  Mr.  M'Nally— Account  of  r.  visit  to  Scotland  in  a  letter 
to  Miss  Phibol—  Ltttor   o  Mr.  Leslie— Letters  to  Mr.  Iletheriugton 857 

CHAPTER    XVI. 

Mr.  Cinran  is  invited  to  stand  for  the  borough  of  Newry— Speech  to  the  electors— Letter 

to  Sir  J.  Swinburne— Lettei  on  Irish  affairs  to  11.  R.  H.  the  Duke  of  Sussex 81)' 

0* 


X  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER    XVII. 

Mr.  Curran's  health  declines — Letters  to  Mr.  Hetherington— Resignation  c  his  judicial 
oflSce — Letters  from  London  to  Mr.  Lube — Letters  from  Paris  to  the  same— Ilis  last 
Illness  and  death 417 

CHAPTER    XVIII. 

Observations  on  Mr.  Curran's  Eloquence— Objections  to  his  Style  considered — His  h.ibilA 
of  preparation  for  Public  Speaking — His  Ideas  of  Popular  Eloquence — Fis  Pathos  — 
Variety  of  his  powers — His  Imagination — Peculiarity  of  his  Images— His  use  of  Ridicule 
— Propensity  to  Metaphor — Irish  eloquence — Its  origin — Mr.  Curran's  and  Buike's 
eloquence  compared 466 

CHAPTER    XIX. 

Mr.  Curran's  skill  in  cross-examination — His  general  reading — His  conversation— His 
wit — Manuscript  thoughts  on  various  subjects — His  manners — Person — Personal  pecu- 
liarities— Conclusion 496 


APPENDIX. 

Anecdotes  of  Curran  and  his  friends , fill 


LIFE    OF 


THE 


RIGHT   HON.   JOHN  PHILPOT  CURKAN. 


-<•*- 


CHAPTER     I. 

Mr.  Curran's  origin— Hi?  parents  —Early  education— Originally  intended  for  the  Church- 
Enters  Trinity  College— Uis  ardour  for  the  classics— Letter  to  Mr.  Stack— Anecdote  of 
his  Mother— Hor  Epitaph— While  in  Coli'jge  fixes  on  the  Bar— Anecdote  connected  with 
the  change  of  Profession- His  character  in  College— Addicted  to  Metaphysics— Anec- 
dote on  the  subject — Verses  to  ApJoLn. 

JoHx  Philpot  Ccrran  -was  born  on  the  24th  day  of  July,  lYoO, 
at  Newmarket,  an  obscure  town  of  the  county  of  Cork,  in  Ireland.* 
In  several  accounts  that  have  been  published  of  his  origin  and 
advancement,  it  has,  by  a  general  consent,  been  asserted  that  the 
one  was  very  low  and  the  other  unassisted ;  that  he  was  the  sole 
architect  of  Lis  own  fortune,  and  the  sole  collector  of  the  mate- 
rials which  were  to  raise  it ;  and  lovers  of  the  marvellous  impli- 
citly believed  and  repeated  the  assertion.  Let  not,  however,  the 
admirers  of  what  is  rare,  be  offended  at  being  told,  that,  no  matter 
how  much  praise  ma^  be  due  to  his  personal  merit  (and  the  allow- 
ance unquestionably  should  not  be  scanty),  a  portion  must  still  be 
given  to  the  institutions  of  his  country,  and  to  those  relatives  and 
friends  whose  industry  and  protection  placed  him  in  a  condition 
of  sharinc:  thftir  advantages.  It  is  of  far  more  importance  to  the 
intellectual  interests  of  men  to  diffuse  a  rational  confidence  in  the 

•  Newmarket  is  eight  miles  distant  from  the  dismanUcd  castle  of  Kilcolman,  where  Spen- 
cer is  Baid  to  haye  composed  his  "  Faery  Queen."— M. 

.      ._   1 


2  Life  of  cukkan. 

efficacy  of  instruction,  than  idly  to  excite  their  wonder,  and  pe  r- 
haps  their  despair,  by  insinuating  that  there  are  persons  who,  by 
nature,  are  above  it.  It  is  not  by  hearing  that  the  subject  of  the 
following  pages  was  a  heaven-taught,  unaided  genius,  that  others 
can  be  encouraged  to  emulate  his  mental  excellencies,  but  by 
learning  the  real,  and  to  him  no  less  creditable  fact,  how  he 
studied  and  struggled — what  models  he  selected — what  deficien- 
cies he  corrected — by  what  steps  he  ascended ;  to  tell  this  is  the 
duty  of  his  biographer,  and  not  to  amaze  his  readers  by  unin- 
structive  panegyric. 

The  lowness*  of  his  origin  has  been  much  exaggerated.  Hi-s 
father,  James  Curran,  who  has  been  represei.ted,as  an  unlettered 
peasant,  was  Seneschal  of  a  manor  court  at  Newmarket.f  It  is 
confidently  asserted,  by  those  who  knew  him,  that  he  j^ossessed  a 
mind  and  acquirements  above  his  station ;  that  he  was  familiar 
with  the  Greek  and  Roman  classics,  which  he  often  cited  in  con- 


*  When  Mr.  Curran  had  risen  to  eminence,  many  tables  of  his  pedigree  were  sent  him, 
all  of  them  varying,  and  the  most  of  them,  he  conceived,  too  flattering  to  be  authentic. 
Among  his  papers  is  the  latest  of  these,  tendered  to  hwa  while  he  was  Master  of  the 
Rolls,  and  made  out  by  a  resident  of  his  native  place.  In  the  paternal  line  it  ascends  no 
higher  than  his  grandfather,  who  is  stated  to  have  been  "  a  north-countryman,  of  the 
county  Derry,  from  which,  having  met  with  disappointments,  he  came  and  settled  in  the 
county  Cork  :"  it  adds,  that  "  his  only  son,  Mr.  Curran's  father,  was  educated  at  a  school 
in  Newmarket,  then  kept  by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Dallis,  and  afterwards  by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Mor- 
duck,  by  whom  he  was  considered  the  best  Greek  and  Latin  sijliolar  in  their  school."  In 
the  maternal  line,  it  presents  a  long  list  of  ancestors,  among  whom  are  judges,  bishops, 
and  noblemen  ;  but  Mr.  Curran  has  marked  his  incredulity  or  nis  indifference  by  indors- 
ing this  paper  with  "  Stemmata  quid  faciunt."  Some  other  pedigrees  derived  his  descent 
from  the  English  family  of  Curwen  in  Cumber'and. — C.  [O'Regan,  who  was  Curran's  con- 
temporary, and  long  on  ihe  most  intimate  le.^  a  vith  him,  says  that  the  family  was  "  of  an 
English  stock,  transi)lauted  from  one  of  the  northern  counties,  and  encouraged  to  settle 
in  that  part  of  Ireland,  under  the  protection  of  the  highly  respectable  family  of  the  All- 
worth's,  who  retain  considerable  landed  e.-'ates  there  to  the  present  time,  acquired  after 
the  fall  of  the  Desmonds."  Phillips  says,  that  the  paternal  ancestor  of  the  Curran  family 
came  over  to  Ireland  one  of  Cromwell's  sojjiers,  "  and  the  most  ardent  patriot  she  ever 
had  owed  his  origin  to  her  most  merccjn  and  cruel  plunderer !" — M.] 

t  The  emoluments  of  the  office  ■frer-  ■^ery  small.  The  Aldworth  estates  at  Newmarket 
(formerly  belonging  to  the  Irish  family  or  clan  of  the  McAuliffes)  consisted  of  32,000 
acres.  As  Seneschal,  James  Curran  had  jurisdiction  to  the  value  of  forty  shillings,  and 
thu8  was — a  Judge  ! — M. 


ms   MOTHER.  8 

versation;  tliat  he  delighted  in  disputation,  and  excelled  in  it; 
and,  among  his  other  favorite  subjects  of  discussion,  it  is  still 
remembered,  that,  after  his  son's  return  from  collegf^.  the  old  man 
was  frequently  to  be  found  in  ardent  contention  wiih  him  upon 
the  metaphysical  doctrines  of  Locke.* 

His  mother,  whose  maiden  name  was  Philpot,  belonged  to  a 
family  well  known  and  respected,  and  of  which  the  descendants 
continue  in  the  class  of  gentry.  She  was  a  woman  of  a  strong 
original  understanding,  and  of  admitted  superiority,  in  the  circles 
where  she  moved.f  In  her  latter  years,  the  .  3lebrity  of  her  son 
rendered  her  an  object  of  additional  attention  and  scrutiny;  and 
the  favorers  of  the  cpiiiiou  that  talent  is  hereditarj-^  thought  the}' 
could  discover,  in  the  bursts  of  irregular  eloq\ience  tnat  esoapi..*! 
her,  the  first  visible  g'.shingi  of  the  stream,  which,  expanding  as 
it  descended,  at  length  attained  a  force  and  grandeur  that  incited 
the  admirer  to  explore  its  source.  This  persuasion  Mr.  Currau 
himself  always  fondly  cherished — "  The  only  inheritance,"  he  used 
to  say,  "  that  I  could  boast  of  from  my  poor  father,  was  the  very 
scanty  one  of  an  unattractive  face  and  person  like  his  own ;  and  if 
the  world  has  ever  attiibuted  to  me  something  more  valuable  than 
face  or  person,  or  than  earthly  wealth,  it  was  that  another  and  a 
dearer  parent  gave  her  child  a  portion  from  the  treasure  of  her 
mind."  He  atti'ibuted  much  of  his  subsequent  fortune  to  the 
early  influence  of  such  a  mother ;  and  to  his  latest  hour  would 
dwell  with  grateful  recollection  upon  the  wise  counsel,  upon  the 
lessons  of  honourable  ambition,   and   of  sober,   masculine  piety, 


*  Phillips  says,  "clu  James  Curran's  education  was  pretty  much  in  the  ratio  of  liis 
income."  Thod  i,  Davis  says  that  Curran's  fatlier  liad  loarncd  reading,  writing,  cypher- 
ing, and,  li  i3»<iid,  some  Greek  and  Latin — M. 

t  "  '6he  was  of  gentle  blood,  and  what  is  more  to  our  purpose,  slm  had  a  deep,  fresh, 
womanly,  iiicgular  mind  ;  it  was  like  the  clear  river  [the  Aveiuia'a]  of  her  town,  that 
came  gushing  and  flasliing  and  discoursing  from  the  lonely  mountains — from  the  outlaw's 
and  the  fairy's  home — down  to  the  village.  She  hud,  under  an  exalted  piety,  a  waste  of 
passions  and  traditions  lying  grand  and  gloomy  in  her  soul,  and  thence,  a  bright, human 
love  of  her  son,  came  pouring  out  on  him,  and  making  him  grow  green  at  her  feet."— 
Datib, 


i  LIFE   OF   CUEKAN. 

whicli  slie  enforced  upon  the  minds  of  her  children.  She  was  not 
without  lier  reward,  she  lived  to  see  the  dcMrest  of  them  surpass- 
ing every  presage,  and  accumulating  public  honors  upon  a  name, 
which  she,  in  her  station,  had  adorned  by  her  virtues. 

John  Philpot,  the  eldest  of  their  sons,*  having  given  very 
early  indications  of  an  excellent  capacity,  the  Rev.  Nathaniel 
Boyse,  the  resident  clergyman  at  Newmarket,  pleased  with  the 
boy,  and  moved  by  regard  for  his  parents,  received  him  into 
his  house,  and  by  his  own  personal  tuition  initiated  him  in  the 
rudiments  of  classical  learning.  Tliis,  his  first  acquired  friend 
and  instructor,  had  also  the  satisfactioi:  of  seeing  all  his  cm-e 
repaid  by  the  rapidity  with  which  its  object  ascended  to  dis- 
tinction, and  still  moro  by  the  unceasing  gratitude  with  which 
he  ever  after  remembered  the  patron  of  his  childhood.  Many 
of  this  gentleman's  letters  to  him,  written  at  a  subsequent  period, 
remain ;  and  it  is  not  unpleasing  to  observe  in  them  the  striking 
revolution  that  a  few  years  had  effected  in  the  fortunes  of  bis 
pupil.  In  some  of  them  the  little  villager,  whom  he  had  adopted, 
is  seen  exalted  into  a  senator,  and  is  solicited  by  his  former  pro- 
tector to  procure  the  enactment  of  a  statute  that  might  relieve 
himself  and  all  of  the  clergy  from  the  vexations  of  the  t}'the- 
laws. 

The  rapid  progress  that  he  made  under  the  iistructions  of  Mr. 
Boyse,  and  the  fond  predictions  of  his  parei'  -.,  determined  them 
to  give  their  son,  what  has  always  been  a  prevailing  object  of 
parental  ambition  in  Ireland,  a  learned  education.  It  was  also 
their  wish,  which  he  did  not  oppose  at  the  time,  that  he  should 
eventually  enter  the  church.  With  this  view  he  was  soon  trans- 
ferred to  the  free-school  of  Middleton,  upon  which  occasi^!  his 
generous  friend  insisted  upon  resigning  a  particular  ecclesiastical 
emolument  (in  value  101.  a  year)  for  the  pu)-pose  of  partly  defray- 
ing the  expenses  of  his  young  favorite's  studies.f     He  remained 

•  Mr.  Curran  had  three  brothers  and  a  sister,  all  of  who  n  >e  fc-ifrived. 

t  O'Regan  says  that  he  was  "transplanted"   to   the  school  of  Middleton,  by  Mrs. 


HIS   CHUJ>J[roD.  5 

at  this  scliool  until  Le  had  attained  the  preparatory  knowledge  of 
the  Greek  and  Latin  languages,  which  slioidd  capacitate  him  to 
become  a  student  of  Trinity  College,  Dublin.  It  may  not  bo  im- 
•worthy  of  remark,  that  the  same  seminary  had,  a  few  years  before 
sent  up  to  tlie  capital  the  late  Lord  Avonmore,  then  commencing 
A^s  career  in  circumstances,  and  with  a  success  so  resembling  those 
of  his  future  friend.* 

The  early  history  of  eminciil  pei'Kons  so  generally  contains 
some  presaging  tokens  of  the  j'ortune  that  awaits  tliem,  that  some- 
thing of  the  kind  may  be  e.xpecled  here,  yet  Mr.  Curran's  child- 
hood, if  tradition  can  be  credited,  was  not  marked  by  much  pro- 
phetic oi'iginality.f  At  the  first  little  school  in  the  town  of  New- 
market to  which  he  resorted,  previous  to  his  reception  into  Mr. 
Boyse's  family,  he  used  to  say  that  he  was  noted  for  his  simplicity, 
and  was  incessantly  selected  as  the  dupe  and  butt  of  his  play-fel- 
lows.    This,  however,  it  would  appear  that  he  soon  laid  aside,  for 

Aldworth.  In  mature  life,  speaking  of  this  lady,  Curran  said,  "  It  is  not  to  be  wondered 
at,  that  she  docs  not  do  all  that  is  expected  of  her:  To  be  enabled  so  to  do,  nature 
should  have  suppliod  her  with  three  hands.  It  is  impossible  that,  stintedly  furnished 
as  she  is,  she  could  accomplish  the  great  purposes  of  her  heart;  she  is  not  jireparcii  for 
80  enlarged  a  charity.  Such  in  truth  is  her  benevolence,  that  she  would  have  occasion 
for  the  constant  employment  of  three  hands;  but  having  only  two,  and  these  always 
engaged,  one  in  holding  the  petition  of  the  poor,  the  other  in  wiping  away  the  tears 
which  flow  for  their  distresses  ;  and  not  having  a  third  to  put  into  her  pocket  for  their 
relief,  she  is  thus  rendered  incapable  of  administering  to  Uieir  wants;  but  still  slie  is 
excellent,  and  her  heart  is  bountiful." — M. 

*  Another  of  Curran's  schoolfellows  at  Middleton,  was  Jeremiah  Keller,  subsequently 
well  known  as  the  witty  and  sardonic  senior  of  the  Muiisler  bar.  He  presided,  says 
Shell,  at  their  mess,  "  aud  ruled  in  all  the  autocracy  of  wit."  Yelverton,  afterwaids 
Viscount  Avonmore,  and,  for  more  than  twenty-one  years,  Lord  Chief  Baron  of  the 
Ei.",hequer,  in  Ireland,  was  fourteen  years  olilcr  than  Cunan — wliich  leads  me  to  doubt 
the'.r  having  been  at  school  together,  though,  no  doubt,  l)oth  had  been  educated  by  the 
same  master,  Mr.  Carey.  Robert  Day,  afterwards  one  of  the  Irish  Judges,  and  a 
friend  of  Orattan's,  is  also  said  to  have  been  Curran's  schoolfellow. — M. 

t  Thomas  Davis,  who  was  himself  from  that  part  of  Ireland,  honored  l>y  Curran's 
birth  and  pupilage,  gathered  u])  many  recollections  of  his  chiUlood,  which  had  floated 
down  to  these  later  limes,  on  the  current  of  tradition,  lie  reports,  from  there,  that 
Curran,  at  school,  was  "  a  vehement  boy,  fonder  of  fun  than  books."  He  describes  him 
as  being  among  the  hiUs  and  the  streams,  his  father's  court,  the  fairs,  markets,  and 
morry-makings,  and  his  mother's  lap.  He  learned  much  passion  and  sharpness,  and 
some  Yices,  too.— M. 


6  LIFE   OF   CURRAN. 

a  puppet-show  having  arrived  in  Newmarket,  and  Punch's  promp- 
ter being  takan  suddenly  ill,  he,  then  a  very  little  boy,  volunteered 
to  perform  the  sick  man's  duty,  and  seiring  the  opportunity,  mer- 
cilessly satirized  the  reigning  vices  of  the  neighbours.  This  is 
almost  the  only  exploit  of  his  childhood  that  has  been  related. 

He  entered  Trinity  College  as  a  sizer,  in  1769,  being  then  nine- 
teen years  old,  an  age  at  which  the  students  of  the  present  day 
have,  for  the  most  part,  nearly  completed  their  college  course.* 
Here  he  studied  the  classical  writings  of  antiquity  with  great 
ardour,  and  with  eminent  success.  Nor  did  his  enthusiastic  admira- 
tion of  them  ever  after  pubsi<le.  Amidst  all  the  distractions  of 
business  and  ambition,  he  was  all  his  life  returning  with  fresh 
delight  to  their  perusal ;  and  in  the  last  journey  that  he  ever  took, 
Horace  and  Virgil  were  his  travelling  companions.  He  obtained 
a  scholarship,  and  that  his  general  scholastic  attainments  were  not 
inconsiderable,  may  be  inferred  from  his  having  commenced  a 
course  of  reading  for  a  fellowship,!  but,  deterred 'by  the  labor,  or 
diverted  by  accident,  he  soon  gave  up  the  project. 

When  we  reflect  upon  the  lustre  of  his  future  career,  it  becomes 
a  matter  of  natural  curiosity  to  inquire  how  far  his  mind  now 
began  to  indicate  those  qualities,  by  which  it  was  to  be  subse- 
quently so  distinguished  ;  and  upon  this  interesting  subject  there 
happened  to  be  preserved  some  documents,  principally  a  portion 
of  his  early  correspondence  and  his  first  poetical  attempts,  from 
which  a  few  occasional  extracts  shall  be  oftered,  for  the  purpose 
of  giving  some  idea  of  the  writer's  juvenile  habits  and  capacity. 
Whatever  may  be  considered  to  be  their  intrinsic  merit,  several 

♦  Curran  entered  Trinity  College,  Dublin,  on  the  16th  June,  1769.  The  examination  is  a 
severe  one,  but  Curran's  answering  must  have  been  very  good,  as  he  obtained  the  second 
place  at  entrance.     His  Sizarship  entitled  him  to  free  rooms  and  commons,  at  College. — M. 

t  O'Regiin  states  that  besides  acquiring  an  intimate  acquaintance  with  the  Classics, 
Curran  liad  made  considerable  advance  in  science,  particularly  in  metaphysics  and 
morality,  while  tlie  purest  modern  classics  in  the  English  and  French  literature,  became 
equally  familiar  to  him.  With  the  Bible  he  was  familiar,  and  once  said,  "  It  would  be  a 
reproach  not  to  eximine  the  merits  of  a  work  in  which  all  mankind  are  so  much  engaged, 
and  have  taken  so  deep  an  interest." — M. 


LETTER    OF   MR.    STACK.  T 

of  them  were  at  least  written  with  considerable  sare,  and  may 
therefore  be  introduced  as  no  unfair  specimens  of  the  progress  of 
his  intellectual  strength.  To  the  student  of  eloquence  their 
defects  will  not  be  without  instruction,  if  thev  inspire  him  with  a 
reliance  upon  that  labor  and  cultivation,  which  alone  conduct  to 
excellence. 

One  of  the  most  intimate  friends  of  Mr.  Curi'an's  youth,  and  of 
his  riper  years,  was  the  late  Rev.  Richard  Stack,  his  contemporaiy 
at  Trinity  College,  and  since  a  fellow  of  that  University.*  The 
following  is  a  formal  letter  of  consolation  to  that  gentleman  upon 
the  death  of  a  brother.  The  writer  had  just  completed  his  20th 
year,  and  appears  to  have  been  so  pleased  with  his  performance, 
that  no  less  than  three  transcripts  of  it  remain  in  his  own  hand 
writing. 

"  Dublin,  August  20, 1770. 

"  Dear  Dick. 

"I  am  sorry  to  find  by  your  letter  (which  I  have  just  now 
received),  that  you  judge  my  silence  for  some  time  past  with  so 
much  more  severity  than  it  deserves.  Can  my  friend  suspect  me 
of  being  unconcerned  at  his  sorrows?  I  would  have  wrote  to  you 
on  hearing  from  Vincent  of  his  late  mi  fortune,  but  that  I  was 
unwilling  to  press  a  subject  upon  your  thoughts  which  you  should 
take  every  means  of  avoiding.  To  ofler  cotisolation  to  a  man  of 
sense,  upon  the  first  stroke  of  aflliction,  h  perhaps  one  of  the  most 
cruel  offices  that  friendship  can  be  betrayed  into.  All  the  fine 
tilings  that  can  be  addressed  to  the  fancy  will  have  but  small 
eft'ect  in  removing  a  disleni|  jr  fixed  in  the  heart.  Time  and 
reflection  only  can  cure  ihsi;  and  happy  is  it  for  us  that  in  this 
chequered  scene,  wheie  everything  feels  pei-petual  decay,  and 
seems  created  only  for  dissolution,  our  sorrows  cannot  boast  of 
exemption  from  the  comioon  fate.  Time,  though  he  sometimes 
tears  up  our  happiness  bj  Ih?  roots,  yet,  to  make  amends  for  that, 

*  Mr.  Stack  wrote  a  Treatise  tj  Optics,  long  a  College  Text-book. — M. 


g  LITE   OF   CCRRAN. 

kindlj  hoiJs  out  a  remedy  for  our  afflictions;  and  tlioug^i  he 
violently  breaks  our  dearest  connexions,  yet  he  is  continually 
teaching  us  to  be  prepared  for  the  blow.  'Tis  true,  nature  On 
these  occasions  will  weep,  but,  my  dear  Dick,  reason  and  reflection 
should  wipe  away  these  tears.  A  few  years  may  see  us  numbered 
with  those  whom  we  now  regret,  or  will  give  us  cause  to  congra- 
tulate those  whose  happy  lot  it  was,  by  an  early  retreat  from  this 
scene  of  misery  and  disappointment,  to  escape  those  troubles  which 
their  survivors  are  reserved  to  sutler.  'Tis  true,  the  inattention  o{ 
youth  will  leave  the  great  account  more  unsettled  than  might  be 
wished;  but  at  this  age,  we  have  everything  to  plead  for  that 
(jefect — the  violence  of  passions,  want  of  reason  to  moderate  them. 
Faults,  no  doubt  we  have,  but  they  are  the  faults  of  youth,  of  in- 
experience ;  not  a  course  of  wickedness  riveted  by  habit,  and 
aggravated  by  obdurate  perseverance,  which  (heaven  help  us)  in  a 
length  of  years  they  may  become ;  but,  above  all,  that  Being  who 
is  pleased  to  call  us  so  suddenly  from  hence,  has  mercy  and  com- 
passion to  make  allowarce  for  these  involuntary  omissions.  But  I 
find  I  have  fallen  una.vares  upon  a  theme  which  I  had  no  intention 
to  pursue  so  far,  as  I  was  persuaded  your  own  good  sense  would 
suggest  much  strongc>-  reasons  for  your  consolation  than  I  could. 

"J.  P.  C." 

At  the  date  of  this  letter,  the  writer,  if  he  looked  forward  to 
fame,  expected  to  find  it  in  the  pulpit ;  but  this,  and  a  short  religious 
discourse,  are  all  that  remain  of  his  eai'ly  compositions,  which, 
from  the  style,  would  uppear  to  ba  written  with  a  view  to  his  first 
destination.  Mr.  Stack,  however,  entertained  so  very  high  an 
opinion  of  his  talents  for  the  solemn  ei  >i|uence  of  the  church,  that 
being  appointed  a  few  years  after  (177,"))  to  preach  before  the 
judges  of  assize  at  Cork,  and  being  anx;i-us  that  his  matter  should 
be  worthy  of  his  auditors,  lie  entreated  of  his  young  friend,  who 
was  then  upon  the  spot,  and  going  h'b  fii'st  circuit,  to  compose  a 
feennon  for  the  occasion.     Mr.  Currai  .complied ;  and  his  produc- 


Tribute  to  his  mother.  9 

tion  excited  sucli  geueial  admiration,  that  Lis  mother,  in  i.riswer 
to  the  congratulations  of  the  neighbourhood  upon  so  tlatt<3ii ug  a 
proof  of  her  son's  abilities,  could  not  avoid  tempering  her  mater- 
nal exuhation  with  Christian  regret,  and  exclaiming — "Oh,  yes,  it 
was  very  fine;  but  it  breaks  my  lioart  to  think  wiiat  a  noble 
preacher  was  lost  to  the  cLurcli  when  John  disappointed  us  all, 
and  insisted  on  becoming  a  lawyer."  All  his  subsequent  success 
and  celebrity  at  the  bar  could  never  completely  reconcile  her  to 
the  change ;  and  in  her  latter  years,  when  her  friends,  to  gratify 
and  console  htr^  used  to  remind  her  that  she  had  lived  to  see  her 
favorite  child  one  of  the  judges  of  the  land,  she  would  still  reply — 
"  Don't  speak  to  me  of  Judges- -John  was  fit  for  anything;  and  had 
he  but  followed  our  advice,  it  miglit  hereafter  be  written  upon  my 
tomb,  that  I  had  died  the  mother  of  a  bishop." 

This  excellent  and  pious  woman  died  about  the  year  1783,  at 
the  advanced  age  of  eighty.  It  is  not  written  upon  her  tomb  that 
she  died  the  mother  of  a  bishop  or  of  a  judge;  but  there  is  to  be 
seen  upon  it  an  attestation  to  her  worth  from  the  son  wlio  was  her 
pride,  which,  as  long  as  virtue  anJ  filial  gratitude  are  preferred  to 
the  glare  of  worldly  dignities,  will  be  considered  as  an  epitaph  no 
less  honorable  both  to  the  parent  and  the  child.''"' 

It  was  during  the  second  year  of  his  college  studies  that  he 
fixed  on  the  profession  of  the  law.  In  his  original  intention  of 
taking  orders  he  had  been  influenced  by  the  wishes  of  his  friends. 


•  Her  remains  lie  in  the  churchyard  of  Newmarliet;  over  thoir  j*  Die  following  epitaph, 
wr  .ten  by  Mr.  Curran  : 

H&RB   LIKS  TFIE   BODY   OP 

SARAH       C'RIIAN. 

She  was  marked  by 

Many  Years, 

Many  Talents, 

Many  Virtues, 

Few  Failings, 

No  Crime. 

This  frail  memorial  was  placed  here  by  a 

Son 

Whom  she  loved, 

1* 


10  LIFE   OF   CTTRRAN. 

and  by  the  promise  of  a  small  living  in  the  gift  of  a  distant  rela- 
tive, and  probably  still  more  stungly  by  a  habitual  preference  for 
the  calling  to  which  his  early  patron  belonged ;  but  his  ambition 
soon  overrule!  all  thecG  iitolives,  and  he  selected  the  bar  as  more 
suited  to  liis  teuip-jramerit  and  talents.  According  to  his  own 
account,  it  was  the  followinp-  iiicidenl  that  suo'o-ested  the  fost  idea 
of  a  change  in  his  destination. 

lie  had  committed  some  brejtcli  of  the  college  regulations,  for 
which  he  was  sentenced  by  the  Censor,  Dr.  Patrick  Duigenan, 
either  to  pay  a  fine  of  five  sliillings,  or  translate  into  Latin  a  num- 
ber of  the  SpecUUor.  He  fo md  it  more  convenient  to  accept  the 
latter  alternative;  but,  on  the  appointed  day,  the  exercise  was  not 
ready,  and  some-  unsatisfactory  excuse  was  assigned.  Against  the 
second  offence  a  heavier  penalty  was  denounced — he  was  con- 
demned to  pronounce  a  Latin  oration  in  landem  decori  from  the 
pulpit  in  the  college  chapel.  He  no  longer  thought  of  evading  his 
sentence,  and  accordingly  prepared  the  panegyric ;  but  when  he 
came  to  recite  it,  he  had  not  proceeded  far  before  it  was  found  to 
contain  a  mork  model  of  ideal  perfection,  which  the  Doctor 
instantly  recognized  to  be  a  glaring  satire  upon  himself.  As  soon, 
therefore,  as  the  young  orator  had  concluded,  and  descended  from 
his  station,  he  was  summoned  before  the  Provost  and  Fellows  to 
account  for  his  beliaviour.  Doctor  Duigenan  was  not  veiy  popu- 
lar, and  the  Provost  was  secretly  not  displeased  at  any  circum- 
stance that  could  mortify  him.  He,  therefore,  merely  went 
through  the  form  of  calling  upon  the  oflender  for  an  explanation, 
and  listening  with  indulgence  to  the  ingenuity  with  which  he 
attempted  to  soften  down  the  libel,  dismissed  him  with  a  slight 
reproof.  When  Mr.  Curran  returned  among  his  companions,  they 
surrounded  him  to  hear  the  particulars  of  his  acquittal.  He 
reported  to  them  all  that  he  had  said,  "  and  all  that  he  had  not 
said,  but  that  he  might  have  said ;"  and  impressed  them  with  so 
high  an  idea  of  his  legal  dexterity  that  they  declared,  by  common 
acclamation,  that  the  bar,  and  the  bar  alone,  was  the  proper  pro- 


HIS   COLI-EGE   LIFE.  11 

fession  for  one  wlio  possessed  tlie  talents  of  wliicli  lie  liad  that  day 
cr'nen  such  a  striking'  proof.  He  accepted  the  omen,  and  never 
after  repented  of  his  decision. 

In  College  he  distinguished  biir.self  by  his  social  powers.  He 
had  such  a  fund  of  high  spirits  and  of  popular  anecdote ;  his 
ordinary  conversation  vf-cS  so  full  of  "  wit,  and  fun,  and  fire,"  that 
in  the  convivial  meetincs  of  his  fellow-students  he  was  nevei 
omitted.  His  gineral  reputation  among  them  Avas  that  of  being 
very  cle\er  and  \ery  wild.  He  often  joined  in  those  s-jhemes  of 
e.\tra\ag;uit  frolic  so  prevalent  in  that  University,  and  after  one  of 
the  nocturnal  broils  to  v/hich  they  usually  led,  was  left  wounded 
and  insensible  from  loss  of  blood  to  pass  the  remainder  of  the 
night  on  the  pavement  of  Dublin. 

He  was  at  this  time  supported  partly  from  the  funds  appro- 
priated to  the  sizers,  and  pailly  by  scanty  remittances  from  New- 
market. l>ut  he  was  fre(piently  without  a  shilling ;  for  he  was 
incorrigibly  improvident,  and  would  often  squander,  in  entertain- 
ing his  coinpa)iiiins,  what  .should  have  been  meted  out  to  answer 
t!)e  demands  of  the  coming  (^uaiter.  Yet,  whatever  his  priva- 
t  ons  wei'e,  he  bnre  ihcni  with  singular  good  humor,  and  when 
he  had  no  longer  money  to  treat  his  friends,  he  never  failed  to 
divert  them  with  Iu<licroui^  representations  of  his  distresses 
and  expedients. 

One  of  his  sayings  while  he  was  in  College  has  been  preserved, 
and  is  a  favorable  instance  of  the  felicitous  use  that  he  made  of 
his  classical  know  Icdgi-  in  the  |  roductiou  of  comical  eftect.*  A 
fellow-student  in  reciting  a  Latin  theme  assigned  a  false  quantity 


*  Another  classical  application  sliews  Ins  readiness,  if  nut  his  wit.  A  gentleman  of 
very  ordinary  countenance,  whose  forclit-ad  was  so  prominent  on  the  one  side  that  it 
rose  like  a  ru|.'i-'e<i  hill,  wlrl'.-  on  the  other  it  was  doiiressed  like  a  valley,  being  charged 
by  one-of  his  friends  with  an  affair  of  gallantry, blushed  exceedingly,  and  defended  him- 
self from  the  in)iMitation  by  good  hnniorcdly  olTering  his  deformity  as  a  proof  of  liis 
innocence  ;  on  which  Ciirran  observed  :  "  On  Ihcjii-st  blush  I  should  think  you  ought  to 
be  acquitted,  but  the  uiax'*  is  still  strong  against  you — Fi-onli  iniUa  Jides,nimmm  na 
crcJg  colon."-  -M. 


12  LIFE    OF   CUERAN. 

to  the  syllable  mi  "n  the  word  nimirum.  A  buzz  of  disajiproba 
tion  succeeded ;  Mr.  C'urran,  to  relieve  bi.s  friend's  confusion 
observed,  "  that  it  was  by  no  me:»ns  suiprising  that  an  li-ish 
student  should  be  ignorant  of  wliat  wa.s  known  by  only  one  man 
in  Rome,  according  to  the  following  testimony  of  Horace — 

"Septimius,  Claudi,  nimirum  intciligit  uuus." 

lie  was  at  this  early  period  remarkable  for  his  disposition  to 
subtle  disputation  and  mofa|>hysical  inquiries,  connected  with 
which  a  circumstance  may  be  mentioned  that  strikingly  illus- 
trates the  speculative  propensities  of  his  young  and  ardent  mind. 
A  frequent  topic  of  conversation  with  one  of  his  companions  was 
the  investigation  of  the  natui-e  of  death  and  etei'nity,  and  the 
immortality  of  the  soul ;  bvit  tinding  that  the  farther  they 
followed  the  bewildering  light  of  reason,  the  more  they  were  "  in, 
wandering  mazes  lost,"  they  came  to  the  romantic  agreement, 
that  whoever  of  them  might  lirst  receive  the  summons  to  another 
state,  should,  if  permitted,  for  once  i'e\isit  the  survivor,  and 
relieve  his  doubts  by  revealing,  Avhaterer  could  be  revealed  to  him, 
of  the  eternal  secret.  A  very  few  yeais  aftei-,  ihe  summons  came 
to  Mr.  Curra-Ts  friend,  who,  findii  g  his  end  approach,  caused 
a  letter  to  be  addressed  to  his  former  fellow-student,  apprising  him 
of  the  impending  event,  and  of  his  intention  to  peiform  his  pro- 
mise (if  it  should  be  allowed)  on  a  particular  night.  The  letter 
did  not  reach  its  destination  till  after  the  expiration  of  the 
appointed  hour .  but  it  was  the  first,  and  the  only  intimation,  that 
arrived  of  the  writer's  decease. 

Something  of  the  same  turn  of  mind  may  be  observed  in  a  lit 
tie  poem  that  Mr.  Cunan  wrote  the  year  before  he  left  Trinity 
College.  One  of  his  contemporaries  there,  was  a  young  gentleman, 
named  Apjohn,  with  whom  he  became  intimately  connected  by  a 
community  of  taste  and  pursuits,  and  who  claims  a  passing  men- 
tion as  a  frien  1    Vom  \\hose   example   and   encouragement  he 


EARLY    POETK?.  '  "3 

derivtivi  the  most  important  advantages  at  tliis  trying  period  of 
his  career,  when  hope  and  ardour  were  the  most  precious  benelits 
that  a  friend  '^■ould  bestow. 

Durini^  a  Ujii.jiorary  absence  of  Apjohn  from  college,  a  report 
reached  his  conipan'ons  that  he  had  died  suddenly  at  his  native 
place,  Killaloe.  It  was  soon  discovered  to  have  been  unfounded, 
upon  which  occasion,  while  the  others  congratulate*!  i'.'vn  in  prose, 
his  more  ambitious  friend  addressed  him  in  the  following  versos  : 

TO  W.  APJOHN. 

l'i;\.(.E  !  whining  slut,  dismiss  those  sighs, 
Those  epitaphs  and  elegies  ; 
And  throwing  off  those  weeds  of  sorrow, 
Go  laughing  bid  my  friend  good  luorrov/! 
Go  bid  him  welcome  here  again, 
From  Charon's  bark  and  Pluto's  rei^)i  I 

The  doleful  tale  around  was  spre&  J  ; 
"  Hast  heard  the  news?    Poor  Apjohn"-  -It- ad !''  — 
"  Impossible  !"' — ••  Indeed  it's  true — 

He  's  dead — and  so  is  Casey  too — 

In  Limerick  this,  and  that  Killaloe. 

As  St.  Paul  says,  '  we  all  must  die  ! ' 

I  'm  sorry  for  "t." — "  Faith  so  'm  I — 

Extremely  so — But  tell  me,  pray,  "j 

If  you  were  on  the  ice  to-diy  ?  I 

Thfi'e  iviis  ereat  skating  there,  they  say — "    j 

•'  1  r:oi!lii  ii't  ro  for  want  of  shoes — 

In  Liu'/i  I  "'fi  Huiry  for  the  news — 

A'~.'l  y^t  I  kn-'W  and  always  add. 

When  tie  VavI  g^t  into  his  head 

That  strange  abitemious  resolution, 

'Twould  quite  destroy  his  constitution  ' 

Thus  careless,  tearless  sorrow  spoke, 

And  heaved  the  sigh,  or  told  the  joke, 

Yet,  must  I  own,  there  were  a  few 

Who  gave  your  memory  its  due  ; 


l-^  LIFE   OF   CUBE  AN. 

And  while  they  dropt  a  friendly  tear 

Said  things  that but  you  must  n't  hoar. 

And  now,  methought,  a  wandering  ghost, 

Yon  whizz'd  along  the  Stygian  coast  ; 

And  if,  perchance,  you  gained  the  whorrj, 

And  tugg'd  an  oar  across  the  ferry, 

That,  sitting  on  the  fuithor  shore, 

Yuu  watch'd  each  boatful  wafted  o'er, 

While  with  impatience  you  attend 

Th'  arrival  of  your  quondam  friend  ; 

To  tell  his  wonder  where  you  've  been, 

And  what  surprising  things  you  "ve  seen  ; 

And,  from  experience  wise,  relate 

The  various  politics  of  fate  ; 

And  show  where  hoary  sages  stray. 

And  where  ihuy  chance  to  keep  their  way  \ 

Then  laugh  to  think,  how  light  as  air. 

Our  blin  !  .iogmatic  guesses  were  ; 

When,  fancy  throned  and  placed  on  high 

We  sat  in  judgment  o'er  the  sky. 

There  envy  too  began  to  rise. 

To  think  that  you  were  grown  so  wise  ; 

That  bursting  from  this  shell  of  clay, 

You  now  enjoy'd  eternal  day  ; 

While  I  was  left  perplex'd  and  blind, 

In  anxious  ignorance  behind  ; 

Doom'd  this  insipid  part  to  play 

In  life's  dull  farce  another  day, 

That,  bent  with  .'jorrows  and  with  ago, 

I  late  might  totter  olf  the  stage  : 

But  yet  my  Muse,  I  cried,  will  pay, 

The  tribute  of  a  weeping  hj  : 

And  though  the  flowers  strewn  o'er  his  tomD 

May  boast,  perhaps,  a  longer  bloom. 

The  short-liv'd  vorse  he  '11  still  receive. 

Since  that  is  all  a  Muse  can  give. 

The  Muse,  contented,  look  her  place — ■ 

I  solemnly  composed  my  face. 

And  took  the  pen,  prepared  to  write 

What  she  sat  ready  to  indite, 


WILLIAM  AFJOHN.  1^ 

ItTiea  Rumor,  lo !  with  deafuing  sound, 

[More  gladsome  tidings  blows  around, 

And  bids  aer  thcu3B,nd  tongue?  to  tell, 

That  Apjohn  is  alive  and  v/.,ll  ! 

And  louder  now  the  torrent  grows, 

Gathering  new  murmurs  as  it  flows, 

When  the  poor  Muse,  in  sad  affright, 

Swift  to  Parnassus  wings  her  flight  5 

But  promised,  ere  away  she  fled, 

That  when  you  should  indeed  be  dead, 

She  'd  call  again,  and  write  a  verse. 

To  please  your  friend,  and  grace  your  hearse  ; 

Unless  that  I  myself  ere  then 

Sh  ^uld  grow  fatigued  and  quit  the  scene. 

And  yet  how  short  a  time  can  live 

Those  honors  that  the  Muses  give — 

Soon  fades  the  monument  away, 

And  sculptured  marbles  soon  decay  ; 

And  every  title,  now  defaced. 

Mix  with  the  dust  which  once  they  graced  : 

But  if  we  wish  a  deathless  name, 

Let  Virtue  hand  us  down  to  Fame. 

Our  honors  then  may  Time  defy. 

Since  we  will  have,  whene'er  we  die. 

For  epitaphr— a  life  well  spent, 

And  mankind  for  a  monument. 

What  matter  then  for  you  and  me. 

Though  none  upon  our  graves  should  see 

A  W,  A.  or  J.  P.  C. 


William  Apjohn  is  a  name  of  which  tlie  world  has  heard 
nothing.  He  died  prematurely,  and  "without  his  fame;"  but 
had  his  days  been  lengthened,  he  would  probably  have  acted 
a  distinguished  part  in  the  history  of  his  country.  Like  his 
friend,  he  had  chosen  the  bar  as  the  most  honorable  road  to 
fortune  and  celebrity,  and  had  already  given  a  promise  of  such 
talents  for  public  life,  that  his  success  was  looked  to  as  undoubted. 
Mr.  Curran  never  spoke  of  bis  capacity  but  in  terms  of  the  most 


16-  LIFE   OF  CUERAU 

respectful  admiration.  "  Apjolin's  mind,''  he  used  to  say,  "  was, 
beyond  exception,  the  most  accomplished  thfi^  I  ever  met:  his 
•  abilities  and  attainments  were  so  many  and  so  rare,  that  if  they 
could  have  been  diftribiited  among  a  dozen  ordinary  persons, 
the  share  of  each  would  have  promoted  him  *o  the  rank  of  a 
man  of  talents." 


i.r.AVES    COLIK.K.  17 


CRAPTER   IT. 


Ml'.  Curran  leaves  College — Enters  the  Midlle  TiMiiple— Letter  to  Mr.  Weston — Letter  tc 
Mr.  Keller^His  first  attempts  in  Oiatoi-.v  fill — His  own  account  of  the  failure,  and  of 
his  first  success — A  regular  attenJant  at  Dt baling  Clubs— Anecdotes — His  Poem  on 
Friendship — Dr.  Creaph's  chir.ictor  of  hi;;! — Mr.  Hudson's  predictions  and  friendship — 
His  early  manners  and  habits  — Subject  to  cnnstitutionai  melanclmly — Letters  from 
London — His  society  in  Lond()n--Ar.ocdote  of  his  interview  with  Macl;hn— His  early 
application  and  .■'-!•  inments— Fa. uri'.e  authors — Early  attachment  to  the  Irish  peas- 
antry— His  marriage — Remarks  upon  the  English  Law. 


Mr.  Curran  completed  his  college  .stiulies  in  the  early  part  of 
the  year  1*773,  having  (pialitied  himself  to  a  Master's  degree,  and 
pa.ssed  over  to  London,  where  lie  became  a  student  of  law  in 
the  Society  of  the  Middle  Temple.*  Daring  his  residence  in 
England  lie  wrote  regularly,  and  at  considerable  length  to  liis 
friends  in  Ireland.  A  collection  of  these  letters  lias  been  pre- 
served, and  as  several  of  them  contain  a  more  striking  picture  of 
his  circumstances,  and  of  many  traits  of  individual  character,  than 
any  description  bv  another  could  convey,  he  sliull  in  this  stage  of 
his  life  be  occasionally  made  his  own  biographer. 

The  following  was  written  immediately  after  his  arrival  in  the 
British  capital.  The  gentleman  to  whom  it  is  addi'e.ssed  was  a 
resident  of  Newmarket,  and  one  of  the  ino.st  attached  of  Mr. 
Curran's  early  friends. 


*  It  is  indispensable  that  every  person  who  seeks  admission  to  the  Irish  bar,  shall 
have  "  studied  "  {i.  e.,  eaten  a  certain  numlx-r  of  dinners  during  two  years)  at  one  of  the 
Imis  of  tlie  Court,  in  Jjoniion,  as  wvU  iis  at  the  (Queen's  Inn  of  law,  in  Publin  I— M. 


15  LIFE   OF   CUKRAK. 

"  London,  31  Chandos'street,  July  10,  1773. 
"THE  EEV.  HENRY  WESTOIT, 

NEWMARKET,  CO.  CORK. 

"I   would  have  taken  a  last  farewell  of  my  dear  Harry  from 
Dublin,  if  I  liad  not  written  so  shortly  before  I  left  it ;  and,  indeed, 
I  was  not  sorry  for  being  exempt  froju  a  task  for  which  a  thousand 
causes  conspired  to  make  me,  at  lli at  juncture,  unqualified.    It  was 
not  without  regret  that  I  could  leave  u  ('Oiintry,  which  my  birth, 
education,  and  connections  had   rendeied  dear  to  me,  and  venture 
alone,  almost  a  child  of  fortune,  into  a  hmd  of  straugers.     In  such 
moments  of  despondence,  when  i'ancy  plays  tlie  self-tormentor,  she 
commonly  acquits  herself  to  a  niira<-le,  an^!  v.  ill  not  fjil  to  collect 
ill  a  single  group  the  most  hidco-u.-  forn;s  of  atii'-  ".patcvl  misfor- 
tune.    1  considered  myself,  besides,  as  rosignino:  for  '"ver  the  little 
indulgeiici^s  that   youth   and   inexjievience  may   claim    for  their 
errors,  and  passing  a  period  of  life  in  which  the  !  cst  can  scarce 
escape  the  rigid  severity  of  censure;  nor  could  the  little  trivial 
vanity  of  taking  the  reins  of  my  own  conduct  alleviate  the  pain 
of  so  dear-bought  a  transition  from  dej^endence  to  liberty.     Full 
of  these  reflections  as  I  passed  the  gate,  I  could  not  but  turn  and 
take  a  last  lingering  look  of  poor  Alma-mater ;  it  was  tlie  scene 
of  many  a  boyish  folly,  and   of  many  a  happy  hour.     I  should 
have  felt  more  confusion  at  a  part  of  the  retrospect,  had  I  not 
been  relieved  by  a  recollection  of  the  valuable  friendship  I  had 
formed  there.     Thou<>-h  I  am  far  from  thinkino-  such  a  circum- 
stance  can  justify  a  passed  misconduct,  yet  I  cannot  call  tliat  time 
totally  a  blank,  in  which  one  has  acquired  the  greatest  blessing  of 
liuiuanity.    It  was  with  a  melancholy  kind  of  exultation  I  counted 
over  the  number  of  those  I  loved  there,  while  my  heart  gave  a 
sigh  to  each  name  in  tlie  catalogue;  nay,  even  \\\q  fellows,  whom 
I  never  loved,  I  forgave  at  that  moment;  the  parting  tear  blotted 
out  every  injury,  and  I  gave  them  as  hearty  a  benediction  as  if 
tliey  had  deserved  it:  as  for  my  general  ac(juaintance  (for  I  could 


LETTER   TO   MK.    WESTON.  19 

not  but  go  the  round).  I  packed  their  respective  little  sighs  into 
one  great  sigh,  as  I  turned  round  on  my  heel.  My  old  friend  and 
handmaid  Betty,  perceiWng  me  in  motion,  got  her  hip  under  the 
strong  box  with  my  seven  shirts,  which  she  had  rested  against  the 
rails  during  the  delay,  and  screwed  up  her  face  into  a  most  rueful 
caricature,  that  might  provoke  a  laugh  at  another  time;  while  her 
young  son  Denny,  grasping  liis  waistband  in  one  hand,  and  a 
basket  of  sea-provision  in  the  other,  took  the  lead  in  the  proces- 
sion ;  and  so  we  journeyed  on  to  George's  Quay,*  where  the  ship 
was  just  ready  to  sail.  When  I  entered,  I  found  my  fellow-pas- 
reno^ers  seated  round  a  larire  table  in  the  cabin :  we  were  fourteen 
in  number.  A  young  Uigliland  lord  had  taken  the  head  of  the 
table  and  the  conversation,  and,  with  a  modesty  peculiar  to  him- 
self, gave  a  history  of  his  travels,  and  his  intimate  connections 
v'ith  the  princes  of  the  empire.  An  old  debauched  officer  was 
coinplaining  of  the  gout,  while  a  w::.:-.n,  who  sat  next  to  him 
(good  heaven !  what  a  tongue),  g^.ve  a  long  detail  of  what  her 
father  suffered  from  that  disorder.  To  do  them  all  justice,  they 
exerted  themselves  most  zealously  for  the  common  entertainment. 
As  for  my  part,  I  had  nothing  to  say ;  nor,  if  I  had,  was  any  one 
at  leisure  t  >  listen  to  me ;  so  I  took  possession  of  what  the  captain 
called  a  bed,  won.kring  with  Partridge,  'how  they  could  play  so 
many  difterent  tunes  at  the  same  time  without  putting  each  other 
out.'  I  was  expecting  that  the  sea-sickness  would  soon  give  those 
restless  mouths  different  employment,  but  in  that  I  was  disap- 
pointed ;  the  sea  was  so  calm  -that  one  only  was  sick  dv.vir.g  the 
passage,  and  it  was  not  my  good  fortune  that  the  lot  should  fall 
on  that  devil  who  never  ceased  chatterincf.  There  was  no  cure 
but  patience;  accordingly,  I  never  stirred  from  my  tabernacle 
(imloss  to  visit  my  basketj  till  we  arrived  at  Parkgate.f  Here, 
after  the  usual  pillage  ;jt  the  custom-house,  I  laid  my  box  down 

•  In  Coi-k.— M. 

■t  I'.Tkgatc,  ic  Oiesliii-e,  was  the  usual  port  of  debarcation,  for  Irish  voyagers  to  Enj 
land,  in  the  last  century.— M. 


20  LJl'B   OF   CUKRAN. 

on  the  beacli,  seated  mj^self  r.pon  it,  and,  casting  my  eyes  west- 
ward over  the  Welsh  mountains  towards  Ireland,  I  began  to 
reflect  on  the  itiipossibility  of  getting  ba(;k  without  the  precarious 
assistance  of  otiiers.  Poor  Jack  !  thought  I,  thou  v.ert  ne^'er  till 
now  so  far  from  home  but  thou  iniglitest  return  on  thine  own  legs. 
Here  now  must  thou  remain,  for  where  here  canst  thou  expect  the 
assistance  of  a  friend?  Whinisical  a?,  tlie  idea  was,  it  Itad  power 
to  affect  me;  until,  at  lengtli,  I  was  awakened  from  thi.-  reverie 
by  a  figure  which  approached  me  with  the  utmost  atl'ability; 
methought  his  looks  seemed  to  say,  '  A^'hy  is  thy  spirit  troubled  V 
lie  pressed  me  to  go  into  his  h<>u:^e,  Hn<l  lo  '  eat  of  his  bread,'  and 
to  'drink  of  his  drink.'  There  was  .so  mucL  c'ood-natured  solici- 
tul"  in  t^K;  invitation,  'twas  ii-resisti i)ie.  I  arose,  therefore,  and 
?i'!io\ved  b'lii,  afliaiinri  of  ray  uncharitable  desjjondenco.  Surely, 
thought  I,  'there  is  stiil  humanity  Wi  among  us,'  as  I  raised  my 
eyes  to  the  golden  letters  over  liii,  door,  tltat  otlerec^  fiit-rt:unment 
and  repose  to  the  wearied  traveller.  Ifcie  ^ '■c-.f.i'--d  to  stay  for 
the  night,  and  agreed  for  a  place  in  his  coac.i,  ne  "•.  rnorning,  to 
Chester;  but,  finding  my  loquacious  fellow-passe!:^;-r  isad  agreed 
for  one  in  the  same  vehicle,  I  retracted  my  b  iv>iin,  jmd  agreed 
for  my  box  oidy.  I  pereei\'ed,  liowever,  wj  eii  I  arose  next  morn- 
ing, that  my  box  was  not  sent,  though  the  coach  Tvas  gone.  I  was 
tlduking  how  I  should  remedy  this  unlucky  disapjwintinent,  when 
my  friendly  host  told  me  that  he  could  furnish  me  witli  a  chaise! 
Confu.^ioi  light  upon  him!  what  a  stroke  was  this!  It  was  not 
the  few  paltiy  shillings  that  vexed  me,  but  to  have  my  philan- 
tliroj)y  til!  that  moment  runiiing  cheerily  through  my  veins,  and 
to  have  the  cuireni.  turned  back  suddenly  by  the  detection  of  his 
knavery  I  A'erily,  Yorick,  e\e.i  tliy  gontle  spirit,  so  meekly  accus- 
tom(Hl  to  iu'ar  and  forbear,  v.'ould  have  l)een  roused  on  such  an 
occasion.  1  paid  hastily  foi-  my  entertainment,  and,  shaking  the 
dust  from  my  ft-et  at  'is  gate,  I  marched  ^^'^i]i  my  box  on  -iny 
shoulder  to  a  Avaggoner's  at  tiie  other  end  of  the  town,  where  I 
entered  it  for  London,  and  sallied  forth  towards  Chester  on  foot. 


LETTliR  TO  MK.    WESTON.  21 

1  was  SO  nettled  at  being  the  dupe  of  my  own  credulity,  that  I  wrs 
almost  temptt'd  to  pass  an  excoMiinunicatiun  on  all  mankind,  unJ 
resolved    never    nioi'o    to    trust    i:  y   own   skill    in    pliysiogr.omy. 
Wrapt  up  in  my  speculations,  I  never  perceived  at  what  a  rate  l 
was  striding  aAvay,  till  I  found  myself  in  the  suburbs  of  Chester, 
quite  out  of  breath,  and  cinnpletely  covered  with  dust  and  <!i!-t. 
From  Chester,  I  set  our,  tli.it  evening  in  the  stage:  I  slept  about 
four  hours  next  day  at  Coventry,  and  the  following  evening,  at 
five  o'clock,  was  in  view  of  near  a  hundred  and  twenty  spires,  that 
are  scattered  from  one  side  of  the  horizon  to  the  other,  and  S(  em 
almost  bewildered  in  tiie  mist  that  perpetually  covers  this  prodi- 
gious capital.     'T  would  be  impossible  for  description  to  give  ar; y 
idea  of  the  various  objects  that  fill  a  stranger,  on  his  first  ari'i\al, 
with  surprise  and  astonishment.    The  magnificence  of  the  churches, 
hospitals,  and  other  public  building,  which   everywhere  present 
tb-jinselves,  would  alone  be  ample  subject  of  admiration  to  a  spec- 
tator, though  he  were  not  distracted   by   the  gaudy  display  of 
wealth  and  dissipation  continually  shifting  before  his  eyes  in  the 
most  extravagant  forms  of  pride  and  ostentation,  or  by  a  hurry  of 
business  that  might  make  you  thiidc  this  the  source  from  which 
life   and  motion   are  conveyed   to  the  world  beside.     There  are 
many  places  here  not  unworthy  of  particular  inspection;  but  as 
my  illness  prevented  me  from  seeing  them  on  my  first  arrival,  T 
shall  suspend  my  curiosity  till  some  future  time,  as  I  am  deter- 
mined to  apply  to  reading  this  vacation  with  the  utmost  diligence, 
in  order  to  attend  the  Courts  next  winter  with  more  ad\antage. 
If  I  should  happen  to  visit  Ireland  next  summer,  I  shall  spend  a 
week,  before  I  go,  in  seeing  the  curiosities  liere  (the  king  and 
queen,  and  the  lions);  and,  if  I  continue  in  my  present  mood,  you 
will  see  a  strange  alteration  in  your  poor  friend.    Inat  cursed  fever 
ever  brought  me  down  so  much,  and  my  spirits  are  so  reduced, 
that,  faith,  I  do  n't  r. member  to  have  laughed  these  six  w<?cks. 
Indeed,  I  never  thought  solitude  could  lean  so  heavily  on  me  as  I 
find  it  does ;  T  rise,  inost  commonly,  in  the  moi'ning  between  W\q 


22  LIFE   OF   CUE  RAN. 

ai\d  six,  and  read  as  luuch  as  ray  eyes  "will  permit  me  till  diimer- 

tiuie;  I  then  go  out  and  dine,  and  from  tliat  till  bed-time,  I  mope 

about  between  my  lodgings  and  tlie  J^iik.     For  heaven's  sake, 

send  ine  some  news  or  other  (for,  surely,  Newmarket  caii^iot  be 

barren  in  such  things)  that  will  Loach  me  once  more  to  laugh.     I 

never  received  a  single  line  from  any  one  since  I  came  here !    'ieil 

me  If  you  know  anything  about  Keller ;  I  wrote  twice  to  that 

gentleman  without  being  favored  ■witli  auy  answer.     You  will  give 

my  best  respects  to  Mro.  Aid  worth  ar.<l   lier  family;   to  Doctor 

Creagh's ;    and  don't  forget  my  good   friends  I'cter  and   Will 

ConnoJ. 

"  Yours  sincerely, 

"J.  P.  C. 

"P.S. — I  will  cover  this  blank  edge  with  iutreating  you  to  write 
r.loser  than  you  commonly  do  "vvhen  you  sit  down  to  annwer  tbi«, 
and  don't  make  me  pay  tenpence  for  a  half[)enny-\vt)rth  of  Avhite 
paper." 

[Curran's  correspondence  with  Mr.  Weston  was  collected  and 
published  in  1819,  but  is  only  slightly  known.  It  extends  over 
only  a  year  and  a  half  (1773--4.),  wlien  CXirran  was  yet  very  young, 
but  contains  some  passages  loo  charaderistic  not  to  be  added  to 
this  life  of  him.     Here  is  a  lively  bit  of  description  : 

"No  doubt  Keller  has  informed  you  of  Schoole's  exploit  in  the  matri- 
monial way,  with  the  daughter  of  the  widow  Graigan  in  Limerick.  It 
seems  the  whole  posse  comitatus  was  huutiag  the  fugitives  for  three  or 
four  days  ;  but  Sfihoole  made  a  valiant  running  fight  of  it,  and  has  the 
dear  creature  here  in  Loudou.  I  have  the  honor  of  being  introduced  as  a 
particular  friend  of  Mr.  Schoole's,  though  I  fancy  the  desire  of  showing 
me  the  prize  was  the  chief  ground  of  the  particularity.  She  is  a  curious 
little  puppet,  smart  and  chattering,  and  looks  upon  her  good  man  as 
an  oracle  of  taste  and  erudition.  By  her  meansiihave  got  acquainted 
with  a  Miss  Hume,  who  is  also  an  original  in  her  way.  She  is  a  relation 
of  the  celebrated  David  Hume  ;  and,  I  -suppose,  on  the  strength  of  the 
kindred,  sets  up  for  a  politician  as  well  as  a  sceptic  ;  she  has  heard  his 


I'llK    iPaSJI    CIIAKACTEJR.  25 

Essays  rccominonded,  and  sliews  ber  own  discernment  by  pronouncing 
them  unanswerable;  and  talks  of  the  famous  Burke,  by  the  familiar 
appellation  of  Ned.  Then  she  is  so  romantic  and  so  sentimental — nothing 
for  her  but  grots,  and  purling  streams,  and  piping  shepherds ;  and  to 
crown  all,  it  sings  like  a  nightingale.  As  I  have  not  the  best  command 
of  my  muscles,  I  always  propose  putting  out  the  caudles,  before  the  song 
begins,  for  the  greater  romanticality  of  the  thing.  This  is  an  expedient 
I  used  to  have  recourse  to  in  the  college,  when  I  had  the  honor  of  teach- 
ing Nixon  to  sing.  'T  is  a  miserable  thing  when  a  poor  girl  is  so  mis- 
taken in  her  qualifications,  as  to  display  only  her  absurdities,  and  stu 
diously  conceal  everything  that  she  ought  not  to  be  ashamed  of.  Evei 
this  being  wants  not  common  sense,  if  she  would  but  use  it.  Bat  whal 
have  you  or  I  to  do  with  the  text  or  comment?"' 

Here,  after  an  unfavorable  character  of  the  English  boor,  is  Cur- 
ran's  panegyric  on  his  own  countrymen: 

"  Their  fondness  for  genealogy,  so  much  despi-sed  here,  and  not  without 
reason,  yet  gives  tliem  an  advantage  they  could  derive  from  no  other 
source.  When  each  pool'  individual  is  supposed  to  contain  in  his  own 
person  the  accunnilated  honors  of  many  generations,  they  are  led  to  treat 
each  other  with  a  politeness  and  respect  proportioned  to  this  imaginary 
merit,  and  to  cultivate  a  friendly  intercourse  that  contributes  not  a  little 
to  reclaim,  and  even  to  reline  the  sentiments  of  the  illiterate  ;  and  I  have 
often  thought,  their  manner  of  lamenting  over  their  dead,  co-operates 
strongly  to  preserve  and  improve  this  untutored  sort  of  politeness,  by 
keeping  alive  something  like  a  taste  for  composition  in  a  language,  that 
wants  neither  expression  nor  extent,  and  by  preventing  that  language 
from  a  decay,  into  which  it  must  otherwise  have  fallen  :  and  to  these  you 
add  the  severe  political  grievances,  and  the  still  more  cruel  miserable 
inducement  to  a  strict  association,  the  community  of  affliction  and 
wretchedness,  more  than  can  he  found  in  either  France  or  Germany. 
and  yet  fostered  in  the  bosom  of  a  constitution  boasted  to  be  free.  You 
will  smile,  no  doubt,  at  these  observations  as  being  unseasonable  as  well 
as  exaggerated.  To  the  first  I  must  plead  gniliy  :  but  for  the  latter, 
there  certainly  is  some  truth  in  it  ;  would  to  Heaven  there  was-  not  so 
much!" 

There  is  life,  spirit  and  vivacity  in   this  account  of  liis  visit  to 


24  LIFE   Oif'   CVRHaH. 

Hampton  Coiul,  one  of  tlie  Royal  Palaces  near  London,  to  which 
the  public  at  large,  as  its  true  proprietors,  have  free  admission  now : 

"The  servant  who  showed  us  the  apartments,  which  were  very  splen- 
did, gave  us  a  circumstantial  detail  of  the  pictures,  and  the  judgments 
passed  upon  them  by  different  connoisseurs  :  he  seemed  to  be  a  good  deal 
pleased  with  his  manner  of  explaining  a  suite  of  tapestry,  reprcseutiiig 
the  Persian  war  of  Alexander:  though  a  simple  fellow,  he  had  his  lesson 
well  by  rote,  and  ran  over  the  battles  of  Issus  and  Arbela,  &c.,  with  a 
surprising  flippancy.  '  But  where  is  Alexander  ?'  cries  Apjohn.  '  There 
sir,  at  the  door  of  Darius's  tent,  with  the  ladies  at  his  feet.'  '.Surely," 
said  I,  '  that  must  be  Hephestion,  for  he  was  mistaken  by  Lhu  Queen  for 
Alexander.'  '  Pardon  me,  sir  :  I  hope  I  knov.-  Alexander  better  than 
that ;'  and  he  shook  his  head  in  conlu-matioii  of  his  opinion,  while  I  paid 
myself  the  same  compliment.  'But  which  of  the  two  do  you  really  think 
the  greater  man?'  H.ueater!  Bless  your  soul,  sir,  they  are  both  dead 
this  hundred  year.-:."  0  Harry  !  what  a  comment  on  human  vanity  !  Bj 
my  soul,  tliore  was  the  marrow  of  a  thousand  folios  in  the  answer.  I 
could  not  help  thinking,  at  the  instant,  what  a  piiz/.le  (hat  mighty  man 
would  be  in,  should  he  appear  before  a  committee  from  the  Temple  of 
Fame,  to  claim  those  laurels  he  thought  so  nuich  of,  and  be  opposed  in 
his  demand,  though  his  competitors  were  Tliersites,  or  the  fellow  who 
rubbed  Bucephalus's  heel.s.  How  would  his  identity  be  ascertained? 
Choerilus,  stand  forth  ;  but  should  M«vius  contest  the  bays  with  Chitrilus, 
would  a  million  of  critics  decide  the  difference  ?  What  then  must  be  the 
sentence?  Why,  since  the  conqueror  cannot  be  distinguished  from  the 
slave,  let  the  chaplet  be  divided  between  them,  et  curru  servus  portetur 
codera.  Thus,  in  a  few  years,  may  my  dear  Harry  be  a  Tillotson,  and  his 
friend  as  much  Cicero  as  Cicero  himself." 

The  following  extract  shows  how  Curran  spent  his  time  in  London. 
What  a  happy  kind  of  iife,  what  a  blessed  flashing  of  mirth  and 
meditation — sport  and  study — fun  and  philosophy — purl  and  poli- 
tics— shaded,  as  it  nnist  have  been,  with  the  constitutional  melan- 
choly which  ])resse.l  on  l-im  through  life,  and  at  length  wrapped 
his  mind  in  the  darkest  folds  of  despondency  and  hopelessness, 
sucli  a  way  of  living  must  have  Lad  i  harms  for  one  who  liked 
variety,  and  could  accommodate  himself  to  all  phases  of  society. 


EAELY    CORKESPONDENCE.  25 

"I  happened  at  first  to  be  rather  unlucky  in  my  lodgini/.? ;  1  was  not 
aware  of  tlieir  being  situated  exactly  under  the  bells  of  St.  Martin,  and 
that  I  was  to  be  eternally  stunned  with  the  noise  of  praying  bells,,  rejoin- 
ing bells,  and  jjassing  bells.  1  had  the  additional  inconvenience  of  being 
exposed  to  the  conversation  of  a  man,  no  ways  agreeable  to  me,  a  dull, 
good-natured,  generous,  unexperienced,  opinionated,  deep-read,  unlearned, 
di.sputative  sort  of  a  character,  still  more  offensive  to  me  than  my  other 
neighbour,  the  steeple  ;  for  I  had  learned  to  endure  unplea^ing  sounds,  but 
I  never  had  an  opportunity  of  learning  to  bear  with  a  troublesome  com- 
panion.  So  I  changed  my  tabernacle  not  a  little  to  my  satisfaction 
Besides  being  disengaged  from  the  nuisances  that  infected  me  before,  I 
have  procured  much  better  accommodations,  on  more  reasonable  terms. 
For  the  future,  you  will  direct  to  me.  No.  9  Orange  Street,  Leicester 
Fie'ids. 

"  Notwithstanding  a  fit  of  illness,  which  somewhat  retarded  my  applica- 
tion in  the  beginning,  I  have  exerted  a  degree  of  assiduity,  of  which  I 
once  thought  myself  incapable.  For  the  first  five  months  I  was  almost 
totally  a  recluse,  indeed,  too  much  so.  When  we  seclude  ourselves  entirely 
from  all  intercourse  with  the  world,  our  aflections  will  soon  grow  impa- 
tient of  tlie  restraint,  and  strongly  convince  us  that  much  of  our  hiippi 
ness  must  be  drawn  from  society  ;  and  if  we  exert  too  nuich  rigour,  how- 
ever philosophical  it  may  appear  at  the  time,  to  suppress  these  struggles, 
the  temper  is  apt  to  fall  into  a  gloomy  kind  of  apathy.  This  I  found  to 
be  my  case,  and  I  accordingly  resolved  to  soften  the  severity  of  the  dis- 
cipline I  had  over  z<'a]onsly  adopt -d.  and  to  that  end  made  some  additions 
to  my  wardrobe,  and  purchased  a  fiddle,  which  1  had  till  then  denied 
myself.  Do  not  think,  however,  from  my  mentioning  those  indulgences, 
that  I  have  diminished  my  hours  of  reading  ;  all  I  have  done  by  the 
cliaiige  is,  emp!oyijig  ihe  time  that  must  othei'wise  he  vacant,  in  amuse- 
ment instead  oi.  solitude.  1  ill'U  continue  to  read  ten  hours  every  day, 
seven  at  law,  and  three  at  history,  or  the  genca]  principles  of  politics: 
and  tliat  I  may  have  time  enough,  I  rise  at  hulf  after  four,  f  have  con- 
trived a  machine  after  the  mannoi'  r.f  an  liourglass,  which,  perhaps,  you 
may  be  curious  to  know,  which  wtikrns  me  regularly  at  that  hour.  Exactly 
over  my  head  I  liave  suspended  two  vessels  of  tin,  one  above  the  other  ; 
when  I  go  to  bed,  which  is  a]way;i  at  ten.  .f  pour  a  bottle  of  water  into 
the  upper  vessel,  in  ihe  Ixdtoin  ot  wiiich  is  a  hole  of  such  a  size,  as  to  let 
the  water  pass  thiu:i>;h.  so  as  io  make  the  inferior  reservoir  overflow  in 
six  hours  and  a  half.     I  have  had  no  small  trouble  in  proportioning  those 

2 


26  LIFE   OF   CU-KRAif. 

vessels  ;  and  I  was  still  more  puzzled  for  a  while  how  to  confine  my  hv.ad, 
so  as  to  recrure  the  drop,  but  I  have  at  length  succeeded. 

"  You  will,  perhaps,  be  at  some  loss  to  guess  what  kind  of  amusement 
I  allow  myselT  ,  why,  I'll  tell  you.  I  spend  a  couple  of  hours  every  night 
at  a  cofiee-hous?  .<'here  I  am  not  a  little  entertained  with  a  group  of  old 
politicians,  who  meet  in  order  to  debate  on  the  reports  of  the  day,  or  to 
invent  some  for  the  ncyt,  with  the  other  business  of  the  nation.  Though 
I  don't  know  that  t^ocial'lity  is  the  characteristic  of  this  people,  yet  poli- 
tics is  a  certain  introd.jjnon  to  the  closest  intimacy  of  colfee-house 
acquaintance.  One  meetr:  -v'.th  a  great  deal  of  amusement  from  this  sort 
of  conversation,  and  I  thlao  it  can  scai'cely  be  devoid  of  improvement. 
Six  or  seven  old  fellows  who  ii-ve  spent  the  early  part  of  their  lives  in  a 
variety  of  adventures,  and  are  .u.ited  at  last  by  no  other  principlt  'mn  a 
common  vacancy,  which  makes  it  a  •■•essary  for  them  to  fill  up  ^huir  time 
by  meddling  in  other  people's  business*.  •;;:  oo  they  have  none  of  iheir  own, 
is  certainly  a  miscellany  not  uc^voiiiiy  a  perusal;  it  gives  a  Mcility  at 
least  of  discerning  characters,  and  what  is  no  less  useful,  enu  ■•,,•;  us  to  a 
toleration  that  must  make  our  passage  through  life  more  easy.  I  also 
visit  a  variety  of  ordinaries  and  eating-houses,  and  they  are  equally  fer- 
tile in  game  for  a  character-hunter.  I  think  I  have  found  out  the  cellar 
where  Roderick  Random  ate  sLiu  of  beef  for  three-pence,  and  actually 
drank  out  of  the  identical  quart,  which  the  drummer  squeezed  together 
when  poor  Strap  spilt  the  broth  on  his  legs.'' 

From  tlie  last  letter  in  tliis  collection  I  quote  a  j^assage,  a  li!tle  tto 
foriDal,  j^orliaps,  k<r  the  oft'-lianu  siyle  of  friendly  letters,  bu'i  show- 
ing vigour  of  tliougLt,,  feeling  and  expression: 

"  My  not  writing  to  you  since  I  came  to  England,  proceeding  wholly 
from  a  scarcity  of  any  thing  wor^lh  communicating,  I  might  justify  a 
continuance  of  silence  from  the  same  cause.  Cut  yet  I  know  not  well 
how  it  happens,  there  is  something  in  the  first  day  of  the  new  year  that 
seems  peculiarly  to  demand  the  tribute  of  remembrance  :  I  could  not  let 
it  pass  without  apprizing  you  that  I  am  still  in  the  land  of  the  living  : 
"vivo  eqiiidem."  These  anniversary  days  serve  as  ligbt-houses  on  the 
great  ocean  of  time,  by  which  we  direct  and  compute  our  coiirres.  They 
alarm  us  to  a  momentary  recollection  of  the  tcmpusitawe  have  weaihered, 


/■ 


EARLY   COERESrONDElsrCK.  27 

the  quicksands  we  have  escaped,  or  the  fortunate  gales  we  have  enjoyed. 
If  auy  of  the  stars  of  heaven  have  shone  with  propitious  influence,  we 
adore  them  for  .their  benevolent  regards,  and  endeavour  to  engage  their 
superintendence  for  the  remainder  of  our  voyage. 
"  As  Young  says — 

•  ""'e  take  no  heed  of  tiiae  but  bv  its  loss ;' 

the  moments  slideu.iperceived  away,  we  think  it  still  in  our  possession,  still 
in  being,  till  the  knell  of  our  departed  hours  startles  us  into  a  perception  of 
its  decease.  These  returning  periods  are  not  then  without  their  advantage. 
They  admonish  us,  it  least,  to  dedicate  one  day  in  the  year  to  a  little  reflec- 
tion. The  incidents  of  our  life  crowd  in  upon  our  thoughts,  the  pleasures 
we  have  found,  the  anxious  moments  we  have  spent — and  Reason,  elated 
with  the  tempir»"y  submission  of  her  authority,  makes  a  merit  of  passing 
an  impartial  sentence,  and  of  changing,  for  an  instant,  from  the  venal 
advocate  to  the  upright  judge  of  our  passions  or  our  follies.  Then,  too, 
the  heart  counts  over  its  attachments  ;  and  if  Fate  has  blotted  out  any 
name  of  the  catalogue,  v/e  fix  our  expectation  with  a  more  anxious  solici- 
tude on  the  survivors.  "\\'hen  any  of  our  fortresses  against  the  outrages 
of  fortune  have  sunk  into  ruin,  we  are  doubly  bound  to  attend  to  the  pre- 
servation of  those  that  remain,  lest  we  should  be  found  totally  defence- 
less in  the  day  of  danger. 

"  Thus  hav'e  I  in  some  sort  accounted  for  my  troubling  you  with  a  let- 
ter at  this  particular  time,  as  well  as  for  the  melancholy  mood  in  which 
I  sit  down  to  write  :  in  truth  I  do  not  reraiMnl)er  to  have  been  much  more 
dejected.  To  you,  my  dear  Harry,  I  hope  this  merry  season  has  been 
more  favourable.  And  yet,  situated  as  you  are,  you  can  scarcely  avoid 
sometimes  feeling  the  heaviness  of  time,  especially  now  when  Newmarket 
has  lost  so  many  who  might  contribute  to  enliven  it.  As  for  ray  part, 
you  can  neither  envy  nor  congratulate  my  situation  with  half  the  reason 
that  I  may  yours.  I  once  thought  that  solitude  amidst  thousands  was  no 
better  than  a  paradox  ;  l>ut  now  I  find  it  efi't'ctually  verified.  It  is, 
indeed,  tie  most  dreary  of  all  solitudes  to  walk  abroad  amongst  millions, 
to  read  the  most  legible  of  all  characters,  those  written  by  fortune  or 
aflliction,  in  every  face  you  meet ;  to  feel  your  heart  elated  or  depressed 
by  every  story,  and  witii  ttie  most  disinterested  solicitude,  acknowledging 
liie  object  for  its  fellow-creature  ;  to  have  all  these  exquisitely  respond- 
ent sympathies  for  which  nature  has  so  finely  formed  the  bosoms  of  her 
children,  unobserved  and  unavailing.        »  *  *  *j 


28  LIFE  OF   CUERAJ^. 

In  a  letter  of  nearly  the  same  date,  to  another  friend,*  ae  says  . 

"By  the  time  you  receive  tliis  I  shall  have  relapsed  into  the 
same  monastic  life  that  I  led  before.  I  do  not  expect,  however, 
that  it  will  lean  so  heavil}'  ou  me,  as  I  am  now  tolerably  recov- 
ered, and  shall  continue  Lo  ror.d  with  unabated  application ; 
indeed,  that  is  the  only  means  of  making  solitude  supportable ; 
yet,  it  must  be  owned,  a  man  of  speculative  tu"M  will  find  ample 
matter  in  that  way  without  stirring  from  his  wli.  low.  It  is  here 
that  every  \ice  and  folly  o!i;vib  to  thf'ir  meridian,  rj.c\  that  mor- 
talit}'  seems  properly  to  understand  her  business.  If  you  on,:f  your 
eyes  on  the  thousand  gilded  chariots  that  are  dancing  th^  hayes 
in  an  eternal  round  of  foppery,  you  would  think  tlicj  world 
assembled  to  play  the  fool  in  London,  imless  you  belie\e  the 
report  of  the  passing  bells  and  hearses,  which  would  seem  to  inti- 
mate that  they  all  made  a  point  of  dying  here.  It  >  rmaxing, 
that  even  custom  should  make  death  a  matter  of.  so  much  un-'^on- 
cern  as  vou  will  here  find  it.  Even  in  the  house  where  I  lodye, 
there  has  been  a  being  dead  these  two  days.  I  did  nvi  Lear  a 
word  of  it  till  this  evenina:,  though  he  is  divided  from  nio  ^inlv  ■  v 
a  partition.  They  visit  him  once  a  day,  and  so  lock  hir  up  till 
the  next  (for  they  seldom  bury  till  the  seventh  day;,  and  there 
ho  lies  without  the  smallest  attention  paid  to  bin',  except  a  dirge 
each  night  on  the  Jew's-harp,  which  T  shall  not  omit  while  he  con- 
tinues to  be  my  neighbour." 

It  was  dm-ing  his  attendance  at  the  Temple  that  Mr.  Curran 
made  the  fii'st  trial  of  his  rhetorical  powers.  He  frequented  a 
debating  society  that  was  com[)Osed  of  his  fellow-studcn^^s.  His 
first  attempt  was  unsuccessful,  and  for  tlie  momei  t  quite  dis- 
lieartened  him.  He  had  had  from  his  boyhood  a  .joiHidtra:  ;3 
precipitation  and  confusion  of  utterance,  from  which  he  v.v;8 
denominated  by  his  school-fellows  "  stuttei'ing  Jack  Curran." 
This   defect  he  had  labored  to  remove,  but  the  cure  was  not  yet 

*  Joremiah  Keller,  Esq.,  a  member  of  the  Irish  bar, — C, 


BURSTING    THE    SIIFLL.  9.9 

complete.  From  the  ayitation  of  a  fiist  clToi't  he  was  unable  to 
pronounce  a  syllable;  and  so  little  pi'Oini-^o  Jid  there  appear  of 
his  shining  as  a  speaker,  that  his  friend  A[r>)hn  said  to  him,  "1 
have  a  higli  opinion  of  your  capaL'i;y;  .-onnne  yourself  to  the 
study  of  law,  and  you  will,  to  a  certniri;},  r.^oume  an  eminent 
chamber  counsel;  but,  dL^peiid  upon  it, nriiuro  ne\er  intended  you 
for  an  orator."  J'ortunately  for  his  hine.,  iliis  advice  was  disre- 
garded :  he  continued  to  attLM,.'.  the  ab«.i'-'y  and  other  debating 
clubs,  at  one  of  wliicli,  durivy-  a  discus?'.on,  some  personal  and 
irritating  ex]»ressioiis  having  b'>cn  !o>ello'l  at  liim,  his  indignation, 
and  along  with  it  his  tak-nt,  w;;,3  roused.  Forgetting  all  his 
timidity  and  hesitation,  he  rose  against  his  assailants,  and,  for  the 
first  time,  revealed  to  his  hearers  and  to  himself  that  style  of 
Kiginal  and  impeti'ous  oratory.  Avhicli  he  afterwards  improved 
into  such  peifection,  and  whi.;h  now  bids  fair  to  preserve  his 
name.  lie  used  often  to  entertain  his  friends  by  detailing  this 
event  of  his  mind's  having  "burst  the  shell."  The  following 
was  the  ni, inner  in  whicli  he  once  related  it;  for  one  of  the 
^ii-at  cliarms  oi"  liis  col!oi|'.;ial  powers  was  the  novelty  that  he 
coul<^  <_qve  to  t;:e  same  facts  upon  every  repetition:  he  adorned  a 
favorite  aiie^jdctc,  as  a  skiUal  musician  would  a  favorite  air,  by  an 
endless  vaiic'.v  ul'  mq.ionieditated  ad  libit  am  graces. 

One  day  after  dinner,  an  acquaintance,  in  speaking  of  his 
eloquence,  hai)pened  to  observe  that  it  must  have  been  born 
with  him.  "  Indeed,  my  dear  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Curran,  "it  was 
not;  it  was  born  three  and  twenty  years  and  some  months  after 
me  ;  and,  if  von  are  satisfied  to  listen  to  a  dull  historian,  you 
shall  have  the  history  of  its  nativity. 

"When  I  was  at  the  Temple,  a  few  of  us  formed  a  little  debat- 
ing club — ]ioor  Apjohn,  and  Duhigg,*  and  the  rest  of  thejn  ! 
they  have  all  disappeared  from  the  ?.tage ;  but  my  <nvn  busy  hour 
will  soon  be  fretted  through,  and  then  we  may  meet  again  behind 
the  scenes.     Poor  fellows!  they  are  now   at  rest  ;  but  I  still  can 

♦  Tin;  lute  B,  T.  I)ub;g{r,  Esq.,  of  the  Uisli  liar.— C. 


3C  ITIE   OF   CUKRAIT. 

see  them,  .aud  the  glov,'  of  honest  bustle  on  their  looks,  as  they 
arranged  their  little  plsD  of  honourable  association  (or,  as  Pope 
vould  say,  'gave  theii'  little  senate,  laws'),  where  all  the  great 
questions  in  ethics  an-!  politics  (tht;rc  were  no  gagging-bills  in 
those  days)  were  to  be  discussed  and  irrevocably  settled.  Upon 
the  first  night  of  our  assembling,  I  attended,  my  foolish  heart 
throbbino-  with  the  antic! .lated  honour  of  beino-  styled  'the  learned 
member  that  opened  Ihe  dt'bate,'  or  '  the  very  eloquent  gentle- 
man ^  ho  has  just  sat  down.'  All  day  the  coming  scene  had 
been  flitting  before  my  fancy,  and  cajoling  it;  my  ear  already 
caught  the  glorious  melody  of  '  hear  him,  hear  him  !'  Already  I 
was  practising  how  to  stesd  a  canning  side-long  glance  at  the 
tear  of  generous  approbation  bubbling  in  the  eyes  of  my  Uttle 
auditory ;  never  suspecting,  alas !  tJiat  a  modern  eye  may  have  so 
little  afhnity  with  moisture  that  the  finest  gunpowder  may  be 
dried  upon  it.  I  stood  up — the  (juestion  was  Catholic  claims  or 
the  slave  trade,  I  protest  I  now  forget  which,  but  the  difleronce, 
you  know,  was  never  very  obvious — my  mind  was  stored  witli 
about  a  folio  volume  of  matter,  but  I  wanted  a  preface,  and  for 
want  of  a  preface  the  volume  was  never  publislicd.  I  sfoci  up, 
trembling  through  every  fibre ;  but  remembering  th.nt  in  this  I 
was  but  imitating  Tully,  I  took  courage,  and  had  S'.iually  pro- 
ceeded almost  as  far  as  '  Mr.  Chairman,'  when  to  my  astonish- 
ment and  terror,  I  perceived  that  every  eye  was  riveted  upon  me. 
There  were  only  six  or  seven  present,  and  the  little  room  could 
not  have  contained  as  many  more ;  yet  was  it,  to  my  panic- 
struck  imagination,  as  if  I  were  the  central  object  in  nature,  and 
assembled  millions  were  gazing  iqx)n  me  in  breathless  expecta- 
tion. I  became  dismayed  and  dumb ;  my  friends  cried  '  hear 
him !'  but  there  was  nothing  to  hear.  My  lips,  indeed,  went 
through  the  pantomime  of  articulation,  but  I  was  like  the  unfor- 
tunate fiddler  at  the  fair,  who,  upon  coming  to  strike  up  tlie  solo 
that  was  to  ravish  every  ear,  discovered  that  an  enemy  had  mali- 
ciously soaped  his  bow;  or  rather  hke  poor  Punch  as  I  once  saw 


THE    DEBATING   CLUB.  31 

him  (and  bow  many  like  liiin  Lave  I  seen  in  our  old  House  of 
Commons !  but  it  is  dead,  and  let  us  not  disturb  its  ashes)  grimac- 
ing a  soliloquy,  of  whicli  his  prompter  behind  had  most  indis- 
creetly neglected  to  administer  the  words.  So  you  see,  sir,  it 
was  not  born  with  me.  Ilowcver,  though  my  friends,  even 
Apjohn,  the  most  sanguine  of  them,  despaired  of  me,  the  cacoethes 
loquendi  was  not  to  be  subdued  without  a  struggle.  I  was  for 
the  present  silenced,  but  I  still  attended  our  meetings  with  the 
most  laudable  regularity,  and  even  ventured  to  accompany  the 
others  to  a  more  ambitious  theatre,  'the  Devils  of  Temple  Bar;' 
where  truly  may  I  say,  that  many  a  time  the  Devil's  own  work 
was  going  forward.  Here,  warned  by  fatal  experience  that  a 
man's  powers  may  be  overstrained,  I  at  first  confined  myself  to  a 
simple  '  ay  or  no.'  and  by  dint  of  practice  and  encouragement, 
brought  my  tongue  to  recite  these  magical  elements  of  parlia- 
mentary eloquence  with  '  such  sound  empliasis  and  good  disr-re- 
tion,'  that  in  ?  fortnight's  time  I  had  completed  my  education  for 
the  Irish  sena';"?.. 

"Such  was  my.  state,  the  popiihir  throb  just  beginning  to 
revisit  ir.y  heart,  when  a  lor-g  exjjected  remittance  arrived  from 
Newmarket;  .\pjohn  (\vmC\  with  me  that  day,  and  when  the  leg 
of  mutton,  or  rather  the  bone,  was  removed,  we  offered  up  the 
libation  of  an  additional  glass  of  punch  for  the  health  and  length 
of  days  (and  heaven  heard  the  prayer)  of  tlie  kind  mother  that 
Jiad  remembered  the  necessities  of  her  absent  (■hil<l.  In  the 
evening  we  had  re]>aireil  to  'the  l^evils.'  One  (if  tht-m  was  upon 
his  I'^gs;  H  fellow  of  whom  il  was  iin|iossil)lc  to  dm-ide,  whether 
h(;  was  most  disting-\iished  bv  tin'  tilth  ot'  his  pi-rson  or  bv  tlie 
Ihppanry  of  his  tongue;  just  sucdi  an<ilh<'i'  as  Harry  Flood 
would  have  called  'the  highlv  giflcd  gnillcnian  with  the  dii'tv 
cravat  and  greatv  ])antaloons.'*       I  found  this  h'arned  personao-e 

*  Mr.  Curra;;  iiere  alluded  to  the  celebrated  Mr.  Flood's  custom  of  distinguishing  the 
speakers  at  ti.v  London  Debating  t-oeieties  by  such  ludicrous  descriptions  of  their  dress, 
as  "  the  el  i'i':!it  friend  to  reform  in  the  threadbare  coat,"  "  the  able  supporter  of  the 
present  mia.stiy  with  the  new  pair  of  bouts,"  &o. — C. 


82  LITE   OF   CUREAN. 

in  the  act  of  calumniating  chronology  by  the  most  preposterous 
anachronisms  (and  as  I  believe,  I  shortly  after  told  him)  traduc- 
ing the  illustrious  dead  by  affecting  a  confidential  intercourse 
with  them,  as  he  would  with  some  nobleman,  his  very  dear  friend, 
behind  his  back,  wj'o,  if  present,  would  indignantly  repel  the 
imputation  of  so  insulting  an  intimacy.  He  descanted  upon 
Demosthenius,  ti:c  glor}-  of  the  Roman  forum ;  spoke  of  Tully  as 
the  fur.ous  cotemporary  and  rival  of  Cicero ;  and  in  the  sliort 
s]\ace  of  one  half  hour,  transported  the  straits  of  Marathon  three 
so'oral  times  to  the  plains  of  Thermopyla!.  Thinking  that  I 
lad  a  right  to  know  something  of  these  matters,  I  looked  at  him 
with  surprise ;  and  whether  it  was  the  money  in  my  2:)0cket,  or 
my  classical  chivaliy,  or  most  probably  the  supplemental  tumbler 
of  punch,  that  gave  my  face  a  smirk  of  saucy  confidence,  when 
our  eyes  met,  there  was  something  like  wager  of  battle  in  mine ; 
upon  which  the  erudite  gentleman  instantly  changed  his  invec- 
tit'cs  against  antirpiity  into  an  invective  against  me,  and  con- 
cluded by  a  Hnv  words  of  friendly  counsel  [linrrfb'.o  referens)  to 
Tirator  Mm;;,'  who  he  d(  ubted  not  possessed  wunderful  talents 
foi-  eloquence,  although  he  would  recommend  him  to  .-how  it  in 
future  by  some  more  popular  method  than  his  siIenc'.^  I  followed 
his  advice,  and  I  believe  not  entirely  without  efiect;  for  when 
sitting  down,  I  whispered  my  friend,  that  I  hoped  he  did  not 
think  that  my  dirty  antagonist  had  come  'qtiite  cleF.n  oft"?'  'On 
the  contraiy,  my  dear  fellow,' said  he,  'eveiyone  aroi::-!d  me  is 
declaring  that  it  is  the  first  time  they  ever  saw  him  so  weii 
dressed.'  So,  sir,  you  s(^<',  that  to  try  the  bird,  the  spur 
must  touch  his  liloo<|.  "^'ef,  af'cr  all.  if  it  had  not  been  for  the 
insp.ii-ation  of  the  puncli,  1  uiiuht  have  coiiiii.;ied  a  mute  to  this 
hour;  so  for  llie  honoi-  of  the  art,  It-i,  us  liavo  another  glass." 

'j'he  .sj^eecli  \\hi(!i  Mr  Currau  mad-i  iij)oi;  '.his  i<ccasion  wa- 
immediatelv  followed  by  a  more  .-ulr^biiit.ial  reward  than  the 
a]'plauses  of  his  heai-ers;  the  debat,e  was  do  ^(MMier  cbsed  than 
the  jpremient  of  the  society  dispatche'I  his  ifc-crctary  to  the  eloquent 


THE   KOBIN    HOOD.  33 

stranger,  to  solicit  the  honor  of  his  company  to  partake  of  a  cold 
collation,  which  proved  to  consist  of  bread  and  cheese  and  por- 
ter ;  but  the  pubhc  motives  of  the  invitation  rendered  it  to  the 
guest  the  most  delicious  supper  that  ne  had  ever,  tasted. 

From  this  time  till  his  final  departure  from  London,  he  was  a 
i-egular  attendant  and  speaker  at  debating  clubs ;  an  exercise 
which  he  always  strongly  recommended  to  every  student  of  elo- 
quence, and  to  which  he  attributed  much  of  his  own  skill  and 
facility  in  extemporaneous  debate.  He  never  adopted  or  approved 
of  the  practice  of  committing  to  memory  intended  sj^eeches,  but 
he  was  in  the  habit  of  assisting  his  mind  with  ample  notes  of  the 
leading  topics,  and  trusted  to  the  occasion  for  expression. 

The  society  that  he  latterly  most  frequented  was  the  well-knoAvn 
Robin  Hood.  He  also  sometimes  attended  a  meeting-  for  the  dis- 
cussion  of  religious  questions,  which  was  held  on  Sunday  evenings 
at  the  Brown  Bear  in  the  Strand,  and  resorted  to  by  persons  of 
every  persuasion,  and  by  many  who  were  honorary  members  of 
all  faiths.  Whenever  the  claims  of  the  lioraan  Catholics  were 
the  subject  of  debate,  he  uniformly  supported  them.  From  his 
zeal  in  their  cause,  and  from  his  dress  (a  brown  surtout  over 
black),  he  was  supposed  by  strangers  to  be  a  young  priest  of  that 
Order,  and  w  as  known  in  the  club  by  the  name  of  "  the  little  Jesuit 
from  St.  Omers."-* 

Among  Mr.  Cunan's  juvenile  productions  was  a  jioem  of  some 
length,  written  while  he  was  at  the  Tenqile ;  it  is  entitled,  "On 
Friends;hip,"  and  addressed  to  Mr.  Weston,  of  Newmarket.  When 
we  consider  the  character  of  Mr.  Cuir;in\s  orat(t)y,  to  which  an 

♦  The  same  zeal  for  tlie  emancipaUon  of  the  Kouiaii  CatliDlics  wliicli  diatinguislied  hiii; 
for  the  rest  of  liis  life,  produced  similar  mistakes  among  strangers  upon  the  subject  of  his 
religion.  When  he  was  at  Paris,  in  1S14,  he  accompanied  some  friends  to  see  Cardinal 
Fesch's  gallery  of  paintings.  The  Frenchmjui  in  aliendance  there  was  a  good  deal 
struck  by  '.U.  Curran's  observations,  and,  upon  the  liiUcr's  retiring  before  the  others, 
asked,  with  ^.^j.ic-  curiosity,  who  he  was.  As  soon  as  he  heard  his  name,  "  Ah  !"  said  he, 
with  great  suipri^e,  "je  voyois  bien  (ju'il  avoit  beaucoupd'esprit,  niais,  men  Dieu  !  je 
n'aurois  jani  lis  soiip^onue  <iue  ce  pet:t  monsieur  fut  le  grand  Catholique  Itiaii- 
dois."—C, 

2* 


^  4 

o± 

excess  of  fervor  and  imagination  lias  been  by  some  imputed  as 
its  imperfection,  we  slioiild  naturally  expect  to  see  those  qualities 
predominating  when  he  found  hi;nr.elf  engaged  in  subjects  to 
which  they  so  peculiarly  belong;  but  Miis  is  not  the  case.  From 
his  youth  to  his  old  age,  he  was  fond  of  writing  poetry,  and  pro- 
duced a  considerable  quantity;  but  in  little  of  it  do  we  meet  with 
that  sustained  ardour,  with  those  fearless  conceptions,  and  that 
diction  teeming  with  imagery,  which  distinguish  liis  other  produc- 
tions. When  he  occupied  himself  with  poetry,  he  appears  to  have 
considered  it  rather  as  a  recreation  to  soothe  himself,  than  as  a 
means  of  exciting  others.  "With  the  exception  of  a  very  few 
instances  (which,  however,  prove  his  poetic  capacity,  had  he  anxi- 
ously cultivated  it),  his  verses  are,  in  general,  placid,  familiar,  and 
unaspiring,  seldom  venturing  beyond  expressions  of  established 
form,  and,  for  the  most  part,  contented  with  those  sentiments 
of  ob\'ious  tenderness  to  which  no  mitid  of  any  sensibility  is  a 
stranger.  The  opening  of  the  poem  on  Friendship  is  here  inserted, 
for  the  sake  of  the  concluding  image,  which  the  late  Mr.  Fox 
(among  others)  particularly  admired. 

ITcre.  on  these  banks,  where  many  a  bard  has  sung. 
While  Thames,  in  listening  silence,  ilow'd  along, 
Where  friendship's  flame  inspir'd  Lhe  glowing  verse, 
To  hail  the  triumph,  or  to  mourn  the  h'iirse  ; 
On  the  same  spot  where  weeping  Thompson  paid 
'I'ho  last  sad  tribute  to  his  Talbot's  shade, 
A  huiiil'ler  muse,  by  fond  remembrance  led, 
Bewails  ihu  al>?.^nt,  where  he  mourned  the  dead. 
Nor  ditfer  mucli  ttie  ':'u\  *cts  of  the  strain, 
Whether  of  death  or  distance  we  complain  ; 
Whether  v>v're  sundered  by  the  final  scene, 
Or  envious  sua,-'  disjoining  roll  between  ; 
Absence,  the  dire  efl'ect,  is  still  the  same, 
And  death  and  distance  ditfer  but  in  name  : 
Vet  sure  they're  different,  if  the  peaceful  grave 
From  haunting  thoughts  the  low- laid  tenant  saye. 


EAELY    POETRY.  35 

While  ia  this  breathing  death  reflectiou  lives, 

And  o'er  the  wreck  of  happiness  survives. 

Alas !  my  friend,  were  Providence  inclined 

(la  unrelenting  wrath  to  human  kind) 

To  take  back  every  blessing  that  she  gave. 

From  the  wide  ruin,  she  would  memory  save, 

Else  would  severest  ills  be  soon  o'erpast. 

Or  kind  oblivion  bury  them  at  last : 

But  Memory,  with  more  than  Egypt's  art, 

Embalming  every  grief  that  toounds  the  heart, 

Sits  at  the  altar  she  hath  rais'd  to  Wo, 

^nd  feeds  the  source  whence  tears  for  ever  flow. 

In  the  course  of  this  poem,  alhisions  are  made  to  the  '\\'riter's 
\iture  career  in  pubHc  life ;  and  those  who  have  not  yet  learned 
to  sn^eer  at  the  mention  of  political  integrity,  will  be  gratified  to 
observe  how  completely,  in  the  present  instance,  the  visions  of  the 
poet  were  realized  by  the  cuLsequent  conduct  of  the  man. 

But  in  his  country's  cause,,  if  patriot  zeal 

Excite  him,  ardeni  for  the  publio  weal. 

With  generous  warmth  to  stem  corruption's  rage, 

And  prop  the  fall  of  an  abanJon'd  age, 

Bold  in  the  "cnuie,  he  confronts  the  band 

Of  willing  sl-vcs  that  sell  their  native  land  : 

And,  wlicn  the  mitred  hireling  would  persuade 

That  chains  ;'or  man  by  Heaven's  high  wWl  were  made, 

Or  hoary  jurist,  ia  perversion  wise, 

Would  sap  the  laws,  and  on  their  ruin  rise, 

Whi'e  olie  mute  'tquire  and  star-enamour'd  beau 

Are  lase  in  all  th^y  can — an  -'ay  "  or  "  no!" 

With  equal  scorn  he  views  the  venal  train, 

And  Fordid  bribe  that  such  a  tribe  can  gain. 

And  a  little  further  on  : 

But  if  oppression  lord  it  o'er  the  land, 

And  fr,i3c  aloae  can  lawless  force  withstand, 


30  LIFE   OF   CUKEAN. 

Fearless  lie  follows  where  his  country  calls, 
And  lives  with  freedom,  or  with  glory  falls  ; 
He  gives  that  shackle  he  disdains  to  wear, 
For  endless  fame,  nor  thinks  the  purchase  dear. 

This  may  not  be  very  good  jaoetry,  but  it  evinces,  what  is  more 
honorable  to  the  writer,  and  what  was  in  those  days  of  more  value 
to  Ireland  than  good  poetry,  an  indignant  sense  of  her  condition, 
and  an  impatience  to  redress  it.  It  will  hereafter  appear  how  far 
he  fulfilled  the  eno;ao:ements  of  his  youth. 

From  the  above  and  similar  productions,*  and  from  the  indica- 
tions of  talent  that  his  ordinary  conversation  aflbrded,  great  hopes 
wv''->  now  entertained  of  him.  According  to  all  the  accounts  of 
those  who  knew  him  at  this  time,  his  colloquial  powers  were  even 
then  of  a  veiy  high  order.  Ila\-ing  no  hereditary  fortune  or 
powei'ful  connections  on  which  to  depend,  and  having  embraced 
an  ambitious  and  hazardous  profession,  where,  Avithout  the  reputa- 
tion of  superior  ability,  there  was  little  prospect  of  success,  lie 
ajtpears  to  have  habitually  exerted  himself  upon  every  occasion  to 
substantiate  his  clahns,  and  iustitV  his  choice.  The  foUowino- 
judgment  was  passed  npon  him,  at  this  period,  by  his  future 
father-in-law.  Dr.  Richard  Creagh,  of  Ne vvmarket,  a  scholar  and  a 
man  of  cultivated  taste,  whoso  prediction,  in  -,he  present  instance, 
has  been  so  completely  verified.  After  mentioning,  in  one  of  his 
letters,  th"  future  ornament  of  the  Irish  bar,  'is  "a  young  man  of 
this  town,  one  Jack  Curran,"  he  proceeds,  ''  lake  his  character 
from  me.  He  possesses  a  good  understan.lin^  •  Is  uii  'ixoellent 
scholar;  has  some  taste,  and,  for  his  yea's,  I  thiiik,  a^  tolt^rable 
judgment;  has  uncommon  abilities;  is  a  proficient  ja  nuisic;  has 
received  an  univei'sity  education  ;  is  now  preparing  for  the  .ar,  for 

*  During  the  two  years  that  preceded  his  adir.issior.  to  tlic  bar,  he  wrotw,  'jesides  the 
poem  of  "  Fi-iendship,"  "Lines  upon  visiting  tlie  Cave  of  Pope,"  and  "Lines  upon  the 
poisoning  a  stream  at  Frenchay"  (where  he  had  been  ari-ren  by  foul  winds,  in  cne  of 
his  passages  from  England  to  Ireland),  which  he  composed  for  t!je  purjiose  of  expressing 
his  gratitude  to  a  family  of  tiiat  place,  who  Iiad  givju  liira  a  vck.,  Lospitable  recep- 
UOD  -0. 


HIS    EARLY    FRiElSrDd.  37 

wlncli  profession  he  possesses  extraordinary  talents,  and  will  disap- 
point all  his  friends  if  he  does  not  distinguish  himself  there.  As 
far  as  I  can  observe,  he  seems  o  be  extremely  cheerful  and  good- 
natured,  and  is  remarkable  pleasant  in  conversation."* 

In  a  letter  of  about  thd  sa:ne  date  from  one  of  Mr.  Curran's 
earliest  friends,  Mr.  Iludsoi  ,f  we  find  similar  expectations  prevail ; 
alluding  to  the  melancholy  that  ran  through  a  letter  he  had  just 
received  from  the  other,  he  says — "  Consider,  now  and  then,  Jack, 
what  you  are  destined  for ;  and  never,  even  in  your  distresses,  draw 
consolation  from  so  mean  a  tli ought,  as  that  your  abilities  may  one 
day  render  your  circumstances  easy  or  afR'.ient ;  but  that  you  may 
one  day  ha,\e  it  ia  your  power  to  do  justice  to  the  wronged,  to 
wipe  the  tear  from  the  widow  or  oi'phan,  v/ill  afford  the  satisfac- 
tion that  is  worthy  of  a  man." 

It  would  be  injustice  to  suppress  another  passage.  ILuiiig  a 
little  before  chided  his  friend  for  neglecting  to  inform  him  of  the 
state  of  his  finances,  Mr.  Hudson  goes  on,  "I  think  I  shall  be  a 
man  of  no  small  fame  to-morr':.w  or  next  dav,  and  thouo-h  'tis  but 

*  Docloi  Creagh  was  a  pliysician,  a.^'d  a  member  of  a  very  respectable  family  of  tlia' 
name  in  the  county  of  Cork.  Much  of  the  earlier  part  of  his  life  had  been  passed  on  the 
Continent,  where  he  h'\il  mixed  in  the  soi^iety  of  tlie  most  celebrated  men  of  taltnt ;  but 
he  used  often  to  declare  tl.ai,  neilher  abroad  nor  at  home,  had  he  ever  met  so  delightful  a 
companion  as  "young  Jack  Curran  ;"  yet,  the  conversation  of  the  latter  was  not,  at  this 
time,  what  it  subsequently  became.  It  was  full  of  vivacity  and  of  anecdotes,  to  which  he 
could  ^ive  an  extr/jordinary  degree  of  dramatic  effect ;  but  it  had  not,  as  at  a  later  period, 
those  irctJ3a:it  And  mat^ici,!  transitions  from  the  most  comic  trains  of  thought  to  the 
deepest  patl.o;i,  which  icere  for  eter  bringing  a  tear  to  the  eye,  before  the  smile  was  off 
the  lip  ;  nirr  that  surpr's.ng  cjr.trol  over  all  the  mysteries  of  language,  which  he  acquired 
by  his  subs(  ',uent  haliits  of  extompfiraneous  speaking.  Dr.  Creagh  was  a  determined 
Whig,  and  had,  no  ili.nbt,  an  influence  in  confirming  the  political  Inclinations  of  his  son- 
in-law.  It  was  also  from  Dr.  Creagli,  who  had  spent  several  years  in  France,  and  was  an 
excellent  French  schc'lar,  that  Mr.  Curran  derived  much  of  his  early  taste  for  the  language 
and  literature  of  th.i'  country. — C. 

t  Mr.  Edward  Hudson,  for  a  long  course  of  years  the  most  eminent  dentist  in  Ireland. — C. 
He  built  a  beautiful  mansion  near  Dublin,  and  asked  Curran  what  order  of  architec- 
ture he  should  adopt.  Gaily  smiling  at  the  dentist,  the  wit  rtilied,  "The  T'/zsA'-an,  of 
course."  In  allurJAn  to  this,  Hudson  was  conmionly  spok;n  of,  familiarly,  as  The  Grand 
Duke  of  Tusk-any;"  and  when  his  nephew  entered  the  milit-.rj  service  of  a  foreign  coun- 
try, Curran  said  tL'Jt  Ih;  ycjiig  lom's  first  engagement  would  naturally  be  the  Battle  of 
Pul-tusk.-M. 


3S  LIFE   OF  CtEEAJr. 

the  £aine  of  a  Jeiidst,  \'et  if  that  of  an  lionest  man  is  added  to  it. 
T  shall  not  be  unhappy.  Write  speedily  to  me,  and  if  you  are  in 
v\'ant,  think  I  shall  not  he  satisfied  with  my  fortunes — believe  me 
T  shall  never  think  T  make  a  better  use  of  my  possessions  than 
when  such  ?  friend  as  J  ark  can  assist  me  in  their  uses."  The 
amiable  and  i3spectab]e  wriU^r  of  the  above  still  lives  [1819],  and 
if  the  union  of  the  two  characters,  to  which,  i  _  his  youth,  he 
aspired,  could  confer  happiness,  he  has  been  completely  happy. 

Many  other  proofs  might  be  added  (were  it  necessary)  to  show 
that  Mr.  Curran  was,  even  at  this  2:)eriod,  considered  as  much  more 
than  an  ordinary  man ;  that  he  had  already  oh-tained  a  very  high 
degree  of  estimation  in  the  opinions  of  overy  person  of  discern- 
ment who  knew  him.  To  be  regarded  as  an  object  of  admiration 
and  of  hope  by  the  iraraediate  circle  of  his  friends,  is,  indeed,  no 
more  than  happens  to  every  young  man  of  any  intellectual  pre- 
tensions ;  but  to  Mr.  Curran's  honour  it  should  not  he  o^'erlooked, 
that  the  friends  who  enterialned  such  sentiments  to'./ards  hi:a 
were,  all  of  them,  those  whose  zerJ  and  apj)r.'bation  ho  b  id  won 
for  himself  by  his  own  character  »nd  talents;  nor  was  a  mere 
general  respect  for  the  latter  the  only  feeling  that  united  tiiem  with 
him — they  all  appear  to  have  been  ?,inni^vted  by  the  most  anxious 
and  affectionate  attachment  to  his  person.  Their  letters  to  him 
abound  with  expressions  of  more  than  usual  endearment,  with 
offers  of  pecuniary  supplies,  and  m^uy  other  uneo^jivocal  demon- 
strations of  the  extreme  value  in  which  they  held  him.  At  this 
period  of  life  he  used  to  pass  considerable  intervals  of  time  at  his 
native  village,  where  he  always  entered,  with  llie  most  good- 
natured  vivacity,  into  all  the  little  parties  and  interests  of  the 
place.  He,  whose  k-fty  and  independent  spirit  Tras  a  few  years 
after  to  bring  upon  him  the  charge  of  "lecturing  i'le  Privy  Coun- 
cil,"* was  in  his  social  intei'course  so  little  Artidin's  or  assuming, 
that  he  could  find  abundant  amusement  among  thu  harmless  wits 
and  politicians  of  an  obscure  little  towm.     Nor  were  these  mere 

*  An  expression  of  Lord  Clare's.    The  whole  scene  is  given  IieiCitfter.  -Q, 


tKTTKR   FEOii   I.ONDON.  3^ 

temporary  feelings,  adopted  for  convenience,  and  as  evanescent  as 
the  occasions  that  excited  tliem — all  his  impulses  were  intensely 
social,  and,  whetljer  present  or  absent,  his  heart  was  still  in  tho 
midst  of  the  friends  and  companions  that  he  loved.  His  letters 
from  the  Temple  abound  witli  proofs  of  these  amiable  propensi- 
ties ;  in  none  of  them  is  the  Newmarket  circle  omitted ;  he  dedi- 
cates a  portion  of  eveiy  day  to  tliinking-  of  them,  and  of  every 
letter  to  inquiries  after  their  liealth  and  fortunes.  This  unpretend- 
ing facility  of  manners,  showing  how  little  natural  the  alliance 
between  superiority  of  intellect  and  austereness  of  demeanour, 
continued  ever  after  prominent  in  his  character;  and  from  the 
event  we  may  learn  that  such  cheerful,  conciliating,  and  sympa- 
thising habits  are  the  surest  road  to  lasting  friendships.  Of  these, 
few  persons  ever  enjoyed  more — the  greater  number  have  gone 
where  he  has  followed — still  a  few,  and  among  them  some  of  his 
earliest  friends,  survive ;  and  it  is  n«  less  honourable  to  tbeiv  con- 
stancy than  to  his  memory,  that  the  same  men,  ^\h^,  more  than 
forty  years  ago,  were  cheering  his  eftbrts,  and  admitting  him  to 
their  affections,  are,  at  this  day,  with  unabated  ardoui',  mourning 
liis  loss  and  cherishing  his  fame. 

The  des}  on  !ency  which  Mr.  Curran's  generous  correspondent 
hc'is  just  been  seen  so  anxious  to  alleviate  was  not  merely  casual. 
Notwithstanding  the  liveliness  of  his  conrersation,  from  wlncL  a 
stranger  woulii  have  supposed  that  his  sp'Hts  never  knew  depres- 
sion, lie  was  all  his  life  subject  to  visit;-,tious  of  constitutional 
melancholy,  whifh  the  most  oi-dinary  ac(  ideuts  excitwl  and  emb't- 
tered;  even  at  this  early  time  it  may  be  observed  constantlv 
breaking  out  in  his  cdmnuniications  to  his  friends.  After  having 
passed  the  long  vacation  of  iTTt  with  his  family  in  Ireland,  he 
thus  writes  to  one  of  tliem  u]>o'i  his  rolurn  to  London: 

"Apjohn  and  I  arrived  ii;  London  about  eight  o'clock  on 
i'bnrsday.  "When  I  was  set  down,  and  threw  myself  into  a  i»ox 
in  the  next  coftee-house  to  me,  T  think  I  never  felt  so  stranirely  in 
Diy  life.     The  struggle  it  cost  n)e  to  leave  Ireland,  and  the  pain 


4:0  MFE    OF   CURRAN; 

of  leavino-  it  as  I  did,  liad  been  Lurried  into  a  sort  of  nuint.iiess 
by  the  exertion  of  sucli  an  effort,  and  a  certain  exclusion  of 
thought,  which  is  often  the  consequence  of  a  strong  agitation  of 
mind :  the  hurry  also  of  the  journey  might  in  some  measure 
have  contributed  to  soothe  for  a  moment  these  uneasy  sensations. 
But  the  exertion  was  now  over,  the  hurry  was  past ;  the  barriers 
between  me  and  reflection  now  gave  way,  and  left  me  to  be  o\er- 
wlielmed  in  the  torrent ;  all  the  difficulties  I  had  encountered, 
the  happy  moments  I  had  lately  passed,  all  now  rushed  in  upon 
my  mind,  in  melancholy  succession,  and  engrossed  the  pang  in 
their  turn. 

Revolving  in  bis  alter'd  soul 

The  various  turns  of  cliance  below, 
And  now  and  tben  a  sigh  he  stole, 

And  tears  began  to  flow. 

'  Ai  leti^'th  I  roused  myself  from  this  mournful  reverie,  and, 
after  writiri'-  a  few  words  to  Newmarket,  set  out  in  search  of  some 
of  my  old  acquaintance.  I  sought  them  sorrowing,  but  there  was 
not  even  one  to  be  found.;  they  had  either  changed  their  abodes 
or  were  in  tiie  coantry.  How  trivial  a  vexation  can  wound  a 
mind  that  is  ori-e  dti, pressed  !  Even  this  little  disapi)ointnient, 
though  it  was  of  no  .-onsequence,  though  it  could  not  surprise 
me,  vet  had  thepowt^r  to  afHict  me,  at  least  to  add  to  my  other 
mortitications.  I  covun  not  help  being  grieved  at  considering  how 
much  more  important  i  hanges  inay  happen  even  in  a  shorter 
Lime  ;  iiow  the  (k'aix-st  hopes  and  most  favorite  projects  of  the 
iieart  mav  tii»iirisli,  and  flatter  us  with  ffaudv  expectations  for  a 
moment,  and  tiien,  suddenly  disappearing,  leave  us  to  lament  over 
ow  wretchedness  and  our  cred'.ility.  Pleased  with  the  novelty 
of  the  word,  we  fasten  eageiiy  oti  the  bauble,  till  satiated  wiin 
enjoyment,  or  disgusted  with  disappointment,  we  resign  it  with 
contempt,  'i'iie  world,  in  general,  follows  our  example,  an  1  .v-i 
are  soon  thi'own  aside,  like  liacbles,  in  our  turn.  And  yet.  dte'ny 
as  ihe  prospect  is,  it  is  no  small  consolation  to  l)e  attp.i  lied  tv. 


PECULIARITIES    OF    STYLE.  41 

and  to  he  assured  of  Uie  attacliment  of  some  wortliy  aft'ectionate 
souls,  where  we  may  rtiid  a  friendly  refuge  from  the  rigours  of  our 
destiny  ;  to  have  e\en  one  congenial  bosom  on  wliich  the  poor 
afflicted  spirit  may  repose,  which  will  feelingly  participate  out 
joys  or  our  sorrows,  and  with  equal  readiness  catch  pleasure  from 
our  successes,  or  strive  to  alleviate  the  anguish  of  disappoint- 
ment." 

In  another  letter,  written  a  few  weeks  after,  the  same  unlurtu- 
nate  sensibility  is  more  strikingly  exemplitied,  and  more  vigor- 
oi;j;]v  expressed.  In  one  passage  we  clearly  recognise  the  pecu- 
liarities ol'  his  subsequent  style. 

"  I  this  day  left  iny  lodgings;  the  people  were  so  very  unruly 
that  I  could  stay  uc'  longer;  I  am  now  at  No.  4,  in  St.  Martin's 
Street.,  Leicester  FieMs,  not  fxr  from  my  foinioi  icsidence.  You 
will  perhaps  smile  at  the  v>'cakness,  ycL  I  must  confess  it;  never 
did  1  feel  myself  so  spiritless,  so  woe-begono,  as  when  I  was  i>re- 
paring  for  the  rt-i;ioval.  I  had  settled  myself  with  an  expectation 
of  remaining  till  I  iJould  finally  depart  for  Ireland  ;  I  was  now 
leaving  it  before  that  period,  and  my  spirits  sutdv  into  a  mixture 
of  peevishness  and  <lespondence  at  the  disa]ipointment.  I  had 
enq)tied  the  desk  l)elv>ngi!ig  to  the  lodgings  of  my  few  moveables, 
which  I  crillecfed  in  a  heap  on  the  floor,  and  prepared  to  dispose 
of  in  mv  little  tiuiik.  Good  luiavens !  in  how  many  various 
parts,  and  by  how  many  various  wavs  may  the  ]ioor  human  heart 
be  wounded  I  Is  it  that  even  Philosophy  cannot  so  completely 
plunge  her  cliildieti  in  the  waters  of  wisdom,  that  an  lifol,  at  least, 
will  not  lie  left  vulnerable,  and  exposed  to  the  danger  of  an 
arrow  ?  Is  the  fable  equally  a]»plicable  to  the  mind  as  to  the 
body?  And  is  all  our  firmness  and  iutrvpi<lity  founded  ulti- 
mately on  our  we,ik;ioss  and  our  foibles?  May  all  oui'  giant  for- 
titude be  so  lulled  ipto  s]uiid)er,  as,  ere  it  awake.s,  to  be  chained  to 
tfie  ground  by  a  few  Lilliputian  grievances,  and  lield  immoveably 
by  such  slender  fetters  ?  ^N'hy  else  sliall  we  be  nnaccountablv 
depressed  ?     To   leave   tlie  fViends  of  my  heart,  to   tear  myself 


42  tlFK    OV   CtRRAN. 

from  their  last  affecting  farewell,  to  turn  my  face  to  a  distant 
region,  senarated  from  them  by  mountains,  and  oceans,  and  tem- 
pests ;  to  ;ndure  all  this  with  something  like  calnmess,  and  yet  to 
feel  pain  at  changing  from  one  street  to  another !  Strange  incon- 
sistence !  and  yet  so  it  was.  I  proceeded  very  slowly  to  fill  the 
trunk.  I  could  not  please  myself  in  the  packing.  Some  letters 
now  presented  themselves ;  I  could  not  put  them  in  without  read- 
ing. At  length  I  made  an  end  to  the  work,  and  fell  into  another 
reverie  ;  I  called  to  mind  my  first  acquaintance  with  my  little 
trunk;  I  industriously  hunted  my  memory  for  every  thing  thai 
any  way  related  to  it,  and  gave  my  recollection  a  great  deal  o^ 
credit  for  beino-  so  successful  in  makingf  me  misoicilMe.  At  leuirth 
I  erot  it  behind  Tom  Gess,  and  s^aw  )>^oor  Tojn  edHno;  forward  to 
avoid  its  jolting,  and  longing  to  be  relieved  from  his  durance.  I  saw 
it  embark;  over  how  many  billows  was  it  wafted,  from  Cork  Lo  Bris- 
tol, over  how  many  miles  from  Bristol  to  London  !  And  how 
small  a  portion  of  that  distance  must  it  measure  back  to-day  !  And 
must  I  be  equally  slow  in  my  return  ?  "VVitli  f  uch  sensations  I  left 
.Mr.Turner's,  perhaps  as  completely  miserable  as  a  ny  man  in  London." 
Of  some  of  his  occupations,  he  gives  the  following  account : 
"As  to  my  amusements,  they  are  very  few.  Since  I  wrote  last, 
I  Avent  to  one  play.  I  commonly  spend  even  more  time  at  home, 
than  I  can  employ  in  reading  of  an  improving  and  amusing  kind.* 
As  I  live  near  the  Park,  I  walk  (here  some  time  e\'ery  day.  I 
sometimes  find  entertainment  in  visitino-  the  divei'sitv  of  eatinsr- 
places  with  which  this  town  abounds.  Here  every  coal-porter  is 
a  politician,  and  vends  his  maxims  in  jwblic  with  all  the  impor- 
tance of  a  man  who  thinks  he  is  exerting  himself  for  the  public 
service:  he  claims  the  privilege  of  looking  as  wise  as  possible,  and 

*  Mr.  Cun-an's  cott'iiiporHi'ies  at  the  Temple  liave  confii-ined  Iiis  own  account  of  his 
habits  at  tliat  period.  He  rose  very  early,  studiuj  till  lie  was  exliausted,  and  then  wect 
out  in  search  of  his  fellow  students,  with  whom  he  passed  the  interval  till  tiie  evening, 
when  they  all  generally  repaired  to  any  debating  society  that  was  open.  During  his 
second  year  at  the  Temple,  he  spent  a  considtrable  portion  of  >/.-  time  in  the  courts  ol 
Jaw  -C. 


EOMANCE   OF   EP:AL    LTPE.  48 

of  talking  as  loud,  of  damning-  tlie  ministry,  and  abusing  the  king, 
with  less  reserve  than  he  would  his  own  e(|ua].  Yel,  little  as  these 
poor  people  understand  of  the  liberty  they  conteni.l  so  warndy  for, 
or  of  the  measures  they  rail  against,  it  reconciles  one  to  their 
absurdity,  by  considering  that  they  a'c  happy  at  so  small  an 
expense  as  being  ridiculous;  and  lhv;y  ofc,'-..Hinly  receive  more 
pleasure  from  the  power  of  abusing,  than  they  would  from  the 
reformation  of  what  they  condemn.  I  take  the  more  satisfaction 
in  this  kind  of  company,  as,  while  it  diverts  me,  it  has  the  adili- 
tional  recommendation  of  reconciling  economy  with  amusement. 

"Another  portion  of  time  I  have  set  apart  every  day  for  thiidc- 
ing  of  my  absent  friends.  Though  this  is  a  duty  that  does  not 
give  much  trouble  to  many,  I  have  been  obliged  to  confine  it,  or 
endeavour  to  confine  it,  within  proper  bounds :  I  have,  therefore, 
made  a  resolution  to  avoid  any  retlections  of  this  sort,  except  in 
their  allotted  season,  that  is,  immediately  after  dinner.  I  am  then 
in  a  tranquil,  happy  humour,  and  i  increase  that  ha})piness  by 
presenting  to  my  fancy  ihose  I  love  in  the  most  advantage-. aw 
point  of  view:  so  that  however  severely  T  treat  them  when  they 
intrude  in  the  morning,  T  i.ake  tl-'Mui  ample  amends  in  the  even- 
ing; I  then  assure  m^-.-lf  i'md  they  are  twice  as  agreeable,  and  as 
wise  and  as  goi^d  as  they  really  are." 

The  V.UI. elusion  of  this  letter  shall  be  given,  if  not  for  the  sake 
of  the  incidents,  at  least  to  show  the  writer's  sensibility  to  any 
pathetic  occurrence  that  fell  in  his  way. 

"I  have  lately  made  two  acipiaiutances ;  one  a  Frenchman, 
Dr.  Du  Garreau  ;  the  other  is  a  (German,  Mr.  Skcll,  for  whom  I 
am  indebted  to  the  doctor.  AVith  this  latter  I  am  not  yet  much 
acquainted;  tht;  former  is  really  a  man  of  understanding,  and,  I 
believe,  of  worth:  he  is  the  son  of  an  advocate  in  Paris,  and  ])rac- 
tised  there  himself,  as  a  physician,  for  some  time.  He  had  con- 
ceived an  afi'ection  for  a  young  lady  with  whom  the  difference  of 
their  religion  prevented  his  union  at  home;  hut,  alas!  I  believe 
love  is  of  no  particular  sect ;  at  l&tst  so  llie  hidy  seemed  to  think. 


4:4  LIFE   OF   CURRAN. 

for  she  quitted  France  with  him,  and  took  liis  lioilour  as  tlie 
security  for  liis  adliering  to  a  ceremony  performed  between  them 
in  Holland.  After  three  or  four  years'  residence  in  Amsterdam, 
where  I  suppose  his  practice  was  not  considerable,  he  brought  his 
wife  and  child  to  EngJind,  'ist  November.  She  survived  the 
journey  but  a  few  weehs,  and  left  the  poor  man  surrounded  by 
every  distress.  His  friends  have  pressed  him  to  return  ;  but  he  is 
determined,  at  all  events,  to  remain  in  England,  rather  than  carry 
his  daughter  to  a  country  where  she  would  not  be  considered  as 
legitimate.  Rouelle  had  hinted  to  me  that  there  was  something 
singular  in  his  fortune,  but  I  did  not  know  the  particulars  till  a 
few  days  since,  that  I  breakfasted  with  him.  He  had  taken  his 
little  child  on  his  knee,  and,  after  trifling  with  her  for  a  few 
moments,  burst  into  tears.  Such  an  emotion  could  not  but  excite, 
as  well  as  justify,  some  share  of  curiosity.  The  poor  doctor 
looked  as  if  he  were  con<;  ■'(■''"=  I  felt  for  him,  and  his  heart  was 
too  full  to  conceal  his  alHiction.  He  kissed  his  little  orphan,  as 
he  called  her,  and  then  endeavoured  to  acquaint  me  with  the 
iain^^ntabi©  detail.  It  was  tii<-  haro'-^t  sstory  in  the  world  to  be 
ti-ld  by  a  tnan  of  delicacy.  He  felt  a:i  *he  difhcultips  of  it;  he 
had  many  things  to  palliate,  some  that  vaniud  to  be  justified;  he 
seemed  fully  sensible  of  this,  yet  checked  hinis..4i'  v.hen  hi^  slidnd 
into  anything  like  defence.  I  could  perceive  the  conliici;  shifting 
the  colours  on  his  cheek,  and  I  could  not  but  pity  him  and  admire 
him  for  such  an  embarrassment.  Yet,  notwitlistanding  all  his  dis- 
tresses, he  sometimes  assumes  all  the  gaiety  of  a  Frenchman,  and 
is  a  very  entertaining  fellow.  These  are  the  occasions  on  Avhich 
we  are  almost  justified  in  repining  at  the  want  of  aflluence ;  to 
relieve  such  an  heart  from  part  of  its  aftiiction,  surely,  for  such  a 
purpose,  it  is  not  ambitious  to  wish  for  riches." 

One  more  of  his  letters,  in  this  year,  shall  be  introduced,  as 
characteristic  of  his  mind.  The  person  to  whom  it  is  addressed, 
a  gentleman  of  the  most  amiable  and  respected  character,  has  sur- 
vived the  writer,  but  his  name  is,  at  his  own  request,  relu'-.tantly 


CnAEACTEBISTIC    LETTEE.  45 

omitted.  Tlie  friendship  of  wliicli  the  comraencement  ef  this 
letter  contains  a  proof,  continued  without  diminution  to  the  day 
of  Mr.  Curran's  death. 

"  My  Dear  Dick  : — 

" Your  packet  was  one  of  V.ie  most  seasonable,  on  e\ery 
account.  As  I  tliink  I  mentioned  to  301  when  I  should  repay  this 
kindness,  in  my  last,  I  need  not  rcpea'  it  here.  I  hope  you  don't 
expect  any  news  from  me ;  if  you  did,  I  would  be  under  a  neces- 
sity of  disap})ointino-  yi-j,.  Unfortunately,  I  ha\e  no  gratification 
in  seeing  high  housoa  or  tall  steeples,  no  ear  to  be  ravished  by 
barrel-organs,  no  pul'ic  anxiety  or  private  importance  by  which 
vanity  might  lay  hold  on  me,  no  fine  clothes,  no  abundance  of 
money,  to  recommend  nic  to  the  deity  of  pleasure.  What,  then, 
can  a  poor  devil  likvi  me  either  see  or  hear  that  is  worth  commu- 
nicating to  a  friend  ?  In  truth,  I  think  I  am  nearly  the  same  man 
I  ever  was;  atfec^ijg  to  look  wise,  ai;  I  to  talk  wise,  and  exhaust- 
ing mosi.  (avishlv  on  lookina,-  and  talk-in"-,  the  wisdom  that  a  better 
economist  would  reserve  for  acting.  And  yet^  Dick,  perhaps  this 
is  natural ;  perhaps  we  are  mi^*;ikeii  when  we  wonder  at  finding 
frugality,  or  even  avaiii;c,  uii  such  good  terms  with  affluence,  and 
extravagance  inseparable  from  poverty.  In  both,  cases,  they  are 
effects  that  flow  naturally  from  their  causes.  They  are  the  gen- 
uine issue  of  their  respective  parents;  who,  to  own  the  truth, 
cherish  and  preserve  their  oflspring  with  a  care  truly  parental,  and 
unfailingly  successful.  'Ti^  just  so  in  wisdom,  and,  on  the  same 
principle,  the  man  who  has  but  a  very  small  share  of  wisdom 
(like  him  whose  purse  is  equally  shallow)  squanders  it  away  on 
every  silly  occasion;  he  tliiuks  it  too  tritling  to  be  worth  hoarding 
against  emergencies  of  moincut:  but  a  very  w'se  man,  or  a  very 
rich  man,  acts  in  a  inaiiiier  diauictiically  opposite  to  this.  When 
the  one  has  ranijed  his  sentiments  and  marshalled  his  maxims, 
and  the  other  computed  his  tens  of  thousands,  the  symmetry  of 
their  labours  would  be  destroyed  should  a  single  dogma  escape  to 


4:6  LIFE   OF   CUKKAN. 

the  banners  of  unwiseness,  or  a  single  guinea  take  its  flight  tc 
supply  an  extravagance.  Each  atom  of  the  aggregate  is  held  fast 
by  its  gravitation  to  the  whole  mass;  hence  the  fool  is  prodigal  of 
his  little  Avisdom,  i^nd  the  sixpence  departs  in  peace  from  the 
pocket  ^^•^I•:.r^  ii  is  not  troubled  with  the  ceremony  of  bidding- 
adieu  tc  another.  If  any  chance  should  make  me  master  of  some 
enormous  treasure,  I  wouh!  B' >t  despair  of  finding  out  its  value ; 
and  if  experience,  and  tht  '.mlusf'-y  of  my  own  folly,  shall  reap  a 
harvest  of  prudence,  I  will  m^vko  you  wonder  at  my  care  in  drying 
it  for  use.  I  will  regale  myself  in  my  old  age  with  the  spirit  of 
it,  and  dispense  the  small  tea  to  those  who  may  have  occasioc 
for  it." 

During  Mr.  Curran's  attendance  at  the  J'euiple,  the  society  in 
which  he  mixed  was  almost  exclusively  xh  J  of  his  Ii-ish  fellow- 
students.  He  was  at  that  time  too  unknown  to  have  access  to  the 
circle  of  literature  or  fashion,  and  ii  was  perhaps  fortunate  for 
him  that  his  obscurity  sav^l  him  from  thosc  s<x*ne's  where  he 
might  have  contracted  the  ';>mgerous  ambition  of  soaring  when 
he  should  have  been  learning  to  fly.  Of  the  celeL.;;ted  persons 
then  in  London,  he  used  to  mdition  that  he  had  seen  Goldsmith 
once  at  a  coffee-house,  Garrick  (^\>1'itii  lie  recll^'.-ted  with 
enthusiasm)  two  or  three  times  upon  the  stage,  and  Loi-l  Mans- 
field, whose  dignified  appearance  made  a  very  solemn  imj^ression 
upon  him,  upon  the  bench.  The  only  man  of  any  eminence 
that  he  came  into  personal  contact  with  vas  Macklin,  the  actor, 
and  the  origin  of  their  acquaintance  was  i other  singular. 

After  Mr.  Curran  had  concluded  his  terms,  he  was  detained  for 
some  time  in  London  in  expectation  of  a  remittance  from  Ireland, 
Avithout  which  he  could  neither  discharge  his  arrears  at  his  lodg- 
ings, nor  return  to  his  own  country.  At  length,  just  as  his  purse 
had  attained  "  the  last  stage  of  inanition,"  he  received  a  bill  of 
exchange  upon  a  banking-house  in  Lombard-street :  without 
stopping  to  examine  the  bill  minutely,  he  flew  to  present  it ;  but 
the  banker  soon  discovered   that  a  necessary  indorsement  wa* 


MACKLIJIT,    THE   ACTOK.  47 

orailled,  aud  of  courso  refused  to  pay  i^,  Of  tlis  g.r.iie  upon  this 
occasion,  as  it  took  place  across  tlie  counter,  /lis  own  consterna- 
tion at  the  dreadful  tidings,  and  the  banker's  insensibility  to  his 
distress,  his  solemn  and  repeated  protestations  that  t!ie  bill  came 
from  the  viost  respectable  merchant  in  the  butter  trade  at  Cork, 
and  tlie  wary  citizen's  marked  distrust  of  all  that  was  Irish,  Mr. 
Curran  used  to  give  a  most  dramatic  and  luxurious  <Iescription. 
Havdng  left  the  banker's,  and  being  without  a  shilling  in  his 
pocket,  he  strolled  into  St.  James'  Park,  where  he  remained 
dui-ing  his  usual  dinner  hour,  considenng  the  means  of  relieving 
himself  from  his  present  necessity ;  but  after  long  reflection,  he 
could  only  come  to  one  certain  conclusion,  that  the  misfortune 
could  never  have  happened  more  inopportunely,  every  one  of  his 
Irish  friends,  to  wlioin  alone  he  could  have  a})plied,  having 
quitted  London,  lea\'ing  him  liehind,  awaiting  this  remittance. 

As  he  sat  upon  one  of  the  benches,  exhausted  with  devising 
expedients,  he  began  to  whistle  a  melanrholy  old  Irish  air ;  an 
old  gentleman  seated  at  the  other  end  (it  was  Macklin)  started  at 
the  well-known  sounds. 

"Pray,  sir,"  ?aid  the  stranger,  "may  I  venture  to  ask  wheie 
you  learned  that  tune  ?" 

"  Indeed,  sir,"  replied  the  whistler,  in  the  meek  and  courteous 
tone  of  a  spirit  which  affliction  had  softened,  "  indeed  you  may, 
sir;  I  learned  it  in  my  native  country,  in  Ireland." 

"But  how  comes  it,  sir,  tliat  at  this  houv,  while  other  people 
are  dining,  you  continue  here,  whistling  old  Irish  airs?" 

"Alas!  sir,  I  too  have  been  in  tbe  \\\\V\.l  of  diuing  of  late,  but 
to-day,  my  money  being  all  gone,  and  my  credit  not  yet  ari'ived,  I 
am  even  forced  to  come  and  dine  ujion  a  whistle  in  the  park." 

Struck  by  the  mingled  despondence  and  playfulness  of  this 
confession,  the  benevolent  veteran  exclaimed,  "Coui-age,  young 
m.^n !  I  think  T  can  see  that  you  deserve  better  fare;  come 
along  with  me,  and  you  shall  have  it." 

About  ten  years  after  this  interview  Macklin  came  to  Publip: 


.4:8  LIFE   OF   CUKEAN. 

Mr.  Ciii'ian,  .viio  iu  tlie  interval  had  risen  to  eminence,  was 
invited  one  evening  to  a  party  where  the  actor  was  one  of  the 
company ;  they  were  presented  to  each  other,  but  Mackliu  failed 
to  recognize  in  the  now  celebrated .  advocate  and  orator,  the 
distressed  student  in  St.  James'  Pai'k.  Mr.  CuiTan,  perceiving 
this,  abstained  for  the  moment  from  claiming  any  acquaintance ; 
but  he  contrived  in  a  little  time  to  introduce  a  conversation  upon 
the  acts  of  kindness  and  hospitality  which  Irishmen  so  generally 
receive  abroad  from  such  of  their  countrymen  as  they  may  chance, 
to  meet;  as  a  proof  of  which,  he  began  to  relate  what  had  hap- 
pened to  himself,  and  proceeded  to  give  a  nvid  picture  of  the 
scene,  and  (suppressing  the  name)  of  the  generous  old  man  who 
had  befriended  him  in  a  land  of  strangers.  A  glow  of  recollec- 
tion was  soon  observed  upon  the  player's  countenance ;  he  started, 
and  fixing  his  eyes  upon  the  speaker,  "  If  my  memoiy  fails  me 
not,  sir,"  srud  he,  "  we  have  met  before  ?"  "  Yes,  Mr.  Macklin," 
replied  Mr.  Curran,  taking  his  hand,  "  indeed  we  have  met ;  and 
though  upon  that  occasion  you  were  only  performing  upon  a 
private  theatre,  let  me  assure  you,  that  (to  adopt  the  words  of 
a  high  judicial  personage,  wdiich  you  have  heard  before)  yo%i  never 
acted  hcttcr^* 

Before  dismissing  this  period  of  Mr.  Curran's  history,  a  few 
words  may  be  added  upon  the  subject  of  the  studies,  and  intellec- 
liuil  habits  of  his  eai'ly  days ;  for,  in  consequence  of  his  not  hav- 
ing devoted  much  tiine  in  his  latter  years  to  books,  and  still  more 
from  the  great  predoninance  of  imagination  over  learning,  to  be 
observed  in  all  the  productions  of  his  mind,  an  opinion  has  gene- 
rally prevailed  that  his  reading  was  extremely  circumscribed,  and 
that  he  was,  from  taste  or  by  constitution,  intolerant  of  any  regu- 
lar application.     If  such  were  the  fact,  notwithstanding  the  dan- 


♦  These  words  were  addressed  from  tlie  bench  by  Lord  Mansfield  to  Mr,  Macklic,  to 
mark  hie  approbation  of  the  liberal  conduct  of  the  latter  in  a  cause  to  which  he  was  a 
pwty,  and  which  was  tried  before  his  lordship  in  1774.  The  proceedings  In  that  interest- 
ing case  are  given  at  length  in  Kirkmau's  life  of  Macklin. — C. 


flIS   LITERARY    i'UR^UlTS.  49 

ger  of  the  example,  it  still  would  not  be  denied ;  the  indolent 
should  have  all  the  benefit  or  all  the  mischief  of  such  a  precedent; 
but.  in  truth,  Mr.  Curran  never  was  a  mere  gifted  idler.  He 
liiiffht  not,  indeed,  have  been  always  found  with  a  book  before 
liiin,  he  might  not  have  been  nominally  a  severe  student,  but  for 
the  course  of  forty  years  he  kept  his  fjiculties  in  perpetual  exer- 
cise ;  and  if  all  that  he  created  in  public,  or  in  the  society  of  his 
friends,  had  been  composed  in  the  retirement  of  the  closet,  it 
would  have  scarcely  been  asserted  that  idleness  was  the  habit  of 
his  mind. 

In  bis  youth  he  was  a  formal  student,  to  a  greater  extent  than 
is  generally  supposed.  Before  he  had  attained  the  age  of  twenty- 
five,  when  he  was  called  to  the  bar,  independent  of  bis  classical 
acquirements,  which  have  never  been  doubted,  his  acquaintance 
with  general  literature  was  far*  from  inconsid-'-rable ;  he  was  per- 
fectly familiar  with  all  the  most  popular  of  the  English  poets,  his- 
torians, and  speculative  writers.  He  had,  at  the  same  age,  with 
little  assistance  but  that  of  books,  acquired  more  than  a  common 
knowledge  of  the  French  language.  If  be  did  not  pursue  a  long 
consecutive  course  of  legal  reading,  he  was  yet  perpetually  making 
a  vigorous  plunge,  from  which  he  seldom  returned  without  some 
proof  that  he  had  reached  the  bottom.  For  several  years  after 
his  admission  to  the  bar,  he  devoted  more  of  his  mornings  and 
evenings  to  the  study  of  his  profession  than  his  mosi;  intimate 
friends  at  the  time  could  have  believed  to  be  compatible  with  his 
convivial  habits  and  public  avocations.  His  frame  was  never 
robust,  but  it  was  extremely  patient  of  fatigue ;  and  :io  matter 
how  great  tlie  exhaustion  of  tlie  day,  or  the  evening,  a  very  few 
houif>  sleep  completely  restored  it;  this  natural  felicity  of  consti- 
tution he  confirmed  by  early  rising,  constant  exercise,  the  daily 
practice  of  cold  bathing,  and  similar  methods  of  invigorating  the 
system. 

Indeed,  when  it  is  recollected  that  Mr.  Curran,  at  ttio  period  of 

3 


56  LIFE   OF   CtJEEAif. 

his  lifff  at  present  under  consideration,  was  looking  to  tLe  bar 
alone  lor  the  means  of  future  subsistence,  and  for  the  gratiat-atio?i 
of  bis  ambition,  it  is  utterly  incredible  that  he  should  have 
neglected  the  ordinary  arts  by  which  success  was  to  be  attaiusd 
According  to  ibe  concurring  accounts  given  by  himself  and  his 
cotemporaries,  he  neglected  none  of  them.  Eloquence  was  at  that 
time  not  only  the  most  popular,  but  one  of  the  shortest  roads  lo 
eminence  at  the  Irish  bar;  and  from  the  moment  of  the  discovery 
of  his  powers  as  a  speaker,  he  began,  and  continued,  to  cultivate 
them  with  the  utmost  assiduity.  His  enunciation  (as  has  been 
already  observed)  was  naturally  impeded,  his  voice  shrill,  and  his 
accent  strongly  provincial,  or  (to  use  his  own  expression)  "  in  a 
state  of  nature;"  to  remove  these  defects,  he  adopted  the  practice 
of  daily  reading  aloud,  slowly  and  distinctly,  and  of  most  studi- 
ously observing  and  imitating  the  tones  and  manner  of  more 
skilful  speakers.  The  success  of  this  exercise  and  study  was  so 
complete,  that  among  his  most  unrivalled  excellencies  as  an  orator, 
were  the  clearness  of  his  articulation,  and  a  peculiar,  uninterrupted, 
graduated  intonation ;  which  whatever  was  the  subject,  whether 
tender  or  impassioned,  melodised  every  period.  His  person,  wa 
without  dignity  or  grace — short,  slender,  and  inelegantly  propoj 
tioned.  To  attain  an  action,  that  might  conceal  as  much  as  pot 
sible  these  deficiencies,  he  recited  pei'petually  before  a  mirror,  an.^ 
selected  the  gesticulation  that  he  thought  best  adapted  to  his  im 
perfect  stature.  To  habituate  his  mind  to  extemporaneous  fluency, 
he  not  oni  j  regularly  attended  the  debating  clubs  of  London,  but. 
both  befo?  0  and  after  his  admission  to  the  bar,  resorted  to  a  syste~>' 
of  solitary  exercise,  of  which  the  irksomeness  cannot  be  weJ' 
appreciated  by  those  who  have  never  practised  it.  He  eithei 
extracted  a  case  from  his  books,  or  proposed  to  himself  some  origi- 
nal question ;  and  this  he  used  to  debate  alone,  with  the  same  anx- 
ious attention  to  argument  and  to  diction,  as  if  he  were  discussing 
it  in  open  court.     There  is  nothing  in  all  this  to  excite  any  won 


His  I^AtOElTE  AtTTHOES.  51 

der ;  but  certainly  the  person  who  early  submitted  to  these  modes 
of  labour,  and  frequently  lesinued  them,  cannot  be  considered  as 
careless  or  incapable  of  application. 

It  may  be  a  matter  of  curiosity  with  some,  to  know  the  writers, 
that,  having  been  Mr.  Curran's  early  favourites,  may  be  sujtposed 
to  have  had  an  influence  in  forming  his  style.  Some  of  his 
letters,  already  given,  discover  in  different  passages  a  preference 
!')r  the  manner  of  Sterne ;  a  similar  resemblance  appears  more 
frequently,  and  more  strongly,  in  several  others  of  about  the  same 
date,  which  have  not  been  introduced.  It  was  from  the  "  Letters 
of  Junius,"  that  he  generally  declaimed  before  a  glass.*  Junius 
and  Txrrd  Bolingbroke.  were  the  English  prose  writers,  whom  he 
at  that  time  studied  as  the  most  perfect  models  of  the  declama- 
tory style. '  Among  the  English  poets,  he  was  passionately  fond 
of  "  Thorn  OD's  Seasons."  lie  often  selected  exercises  of  delivery 
from  "  Paradise  Lost,"  which  he  then  admired,  but  subsequently 
(and  it  is  hoped  that  few  will  attempt  to  justify  the  change)  his 
sensibility  to  the  beauties  of  that  noble  poem  greatly  subsided.f 
In  this  list,  the  sacred  writings  must  not  be  omitted ;  indepen- 
dent of  their  more  solemn  titles  to  his  respect,  Mr.  Curran  was 
from  his  childhood  exquisitely  alive  to  their  mere  literary  excel- 
lencies ;  and  in  his  maturer  years  seldom  failed  to  resort  to  them, 
as  to  a  source  of  the  most  splendid  and  awful  topics  of  persuasion.  J 

*  Tlie  single  exercise  that  he  most  frequently  repeated  for  the  purpose  Of  improving 
his  action  and  intonation,  was  the  speech  of  Antony  over  Csesar's  body,  from  Shakspeare'a 
Julius  Cajsar.  This  he  considered  tn  be  a  master-piece  of  eloquence,  comprising  in  itself, 
and  involving  in  its  delivery,  the  whole  compass  of  the  art.  He  studied  it  incessantly, 
and  pronounced  it  with  great  skill,  but  though  he  delighted  his  auditors,  he  never 
entirely  satisfied  himself;  he  uniformly  recommended  it  as  a  lesson  to  his  young  friends 
at  the  bar. — C. 

+  In  criticising  Milton,  Sir.  Curran  always  dwelt  upon  what  others  have  considered 
among  the  m-'-.U  splendid  and  attractive  parts  of  his  work,  the  scenes  in  Paradise  ;  in 
objecting  to  which,  he  contended  that  the  human  characters  introduced  are  detached 
and  solitary  b<-ing3,  whose  peculiar  situation  precluded  them  from  displaying  the  various 
social  feelings  a:i  I  passion?,  w'.lrh  are  the  proper  subjects  of  poetic  emotion.  For  a 
vigorous  and  eloquent  answer  to  this  objection,  see  Hazlitt's  observations  on  Paradise 
Lost,  in  his  Lectures  upon  the  Knglish  Poets. — 0. 

%  Of  all  the  profane  writers,  Virgil,  whom  he  considered  "  the  prince  of  senslUre  poets," 


5^  LIFE   OF   CURRAN. 

Befoie  quitting  the  snl>iect  of  Mr.  Curran's  youtlitul  habits,  it 
is  proper  to  mention  tlie  })ieasure  tLnt  he  took  in  occasionally 
mingling  in  tlie  society  o^  I  he  lower  orders  of  his  countrymen  : 
he  was  a  frequent  attendant  at  the  weddings  and  wakes  of  his 
neighbourhood.  Being  from  his  infancy  familiar  with  the  native 
Irish  language,  he  lost  nothing  of  whatever  interest  such  meet- 
ings could  atlbrd.  They  aj^pear  to  have  had  considerable  influ- 
ence on  his  mind ;  he  used  to  say  hii?iself,  that  he  derived  his 
first  notions  of  poetry  and  eloquence  from  the  compositions  of  the 
hired  mourner  over  the  dead.*  It  was  probably  amidst  those 
scenes  that  he  acquired  the  rudiments  of  that  thorough  know- 
ledge of  the  Irish  character,  of  which  he  afterwards  made  so 
amusing  an  use  in  enlivening  a  company,  and  so  important  a  one 
in  confounding  a  perjured  witness.  It  may  have  been  too  in  this 
hunil)le  ".ntercourse  that  some  even  of  his  finer  tastes  and  feelings 
originated  or  were  confirmed.  Out  of  Ireland  the  genius  of  its 
natives  is,  in  general,  but  partly  known.  TJiev  are,  for  the  most 
part,  represented  as  comical  and  impetuous,  qualities  which,  lying 
upon  the  surface,  strike  the  stranger  and  superficial  observer ;  but 
with  these  they  unite  the  deepest  sensibility.  It  is  the  latter  that 
prevails ;  and  if  their  pathetic  sayings  had  been  as  sedulously 


was  his  favourite.     For  a  considerable  part  of  his  life,  he  made  it  a  rule  to  read  Homer 
once  a  year;  but  the  more  congenial  tenderness  of  Virgil  attracted  him  every  day. — C. 

*  It  may  be  necessary  to  inform  some  English  readers,  that  the  practice  of  formal 
lamentations  over  the  dead  is  one  of  the  ancient  customs  of  the  Irish,  which  is  continued 
among  the  lower  orders  to  the  present  day.  In  the  last  century,  it  was  not  usual  upon 
the  death  of  persons  of  the  highest  condition.  The  ceremony  is  generally  performed  by 
women,  who  receive  a  remuneration  for  composing  and  reciting  a  "  Coronach  "  at  the 
wake  of  the  departed.  In  some  parts  of  Ireland,  these  women  used  formerly  to  go 
about  the  country,  to  "  look  in  "  upon  such  elderly  persons  as  might  soon  require  their 
attendance;  and  to  remind  them,  that  whenever  the  hour  might  arrive,  a  noble  Coro- 
nach should  be  ready.  Rlr.  Curran's  father-in-law.  Dr.  Creagli,  was  so  molcst.^d  by  one  of 
these  dispiriting  visitors,  and  had  such  an  aversion  to  'ht  usage,  that  in  ihe  first  will  he 
ever  made,  he  thus  begins,  after  the  usual  preamble,  "  requesting  it  as  a  favour  of  my 
executors,  that,  neither  at  my  wake  nor  at  my  funeral,  they  will  suffer  any  of  the  sa^aga 
bowlings,  and  insincere  lamentations,  that  are  usually  pr.;>;tlsed  upon  these  serious  and 
melancholy  occasions,  but  to  see  the  whole  o'  my  burial  conducted  with  silence  and 
Christian  decency." — C. 


DAWN    OF    HIS    ELOQUENCE.  53 

recorded  as  their  lively  sallies,  it  would  be  seen  that  they  can 
be  as  eloquent  in  their  lamentations  as  they  are  original  in  their 
humour.  Of  these  almost  national  peculiarities,  so  opposite,  yet 
to  constantly  associated.  Mr,  Curran's  mind  strongly  partook ;  and 
in  his,  as  in  his  country's  character,  melancholy  predominated. 
In  his  earliest,  as  well  as  his  latest  speculations,  he  declined  to 
Lake  a  desponding  view  of  human  aftairs — he  appeared,  indeed, 
more  frequently  in  smiles  to  relax  his  mind,  or  to  entertain  his 
con:ipanions ;  but  when  left  entirely  to  his  original  propensities,  he 
seems  to  have  ever  wept  from  choice. 

[If  Mr.  O'Regan's  account  can  be  relied  on.  Gunman's  predispo 
sition  for  elo(^uence  may  be  traced  to  an  event  which  occurred 
while  he  was  a  child,  at  a  wake,  in  his  native  Newmarket.     The 
story  runs  thus : 

'■  At  one  of  those  national  carnivals,  where  the  common  excitements  of 
snuff,  tobacco,  and  whiskey,  and  the  fruits  of  plundered  orchards,  are 
abundantly  supplied,  ^[r.- Curran  ft-lt  the  first  dawn,  the  new-born  light, 
and  favourite  transport  which  almost  instantly  seized  upon  his  imagina- 
tion, and  determined  his  mind  to  the  cultivation  and  pursuit  of  oratory. 
It  was  produced  by  the  speech  of  a  tall,  finely-shaped  woman,  with  lor.^- 
black  hair  Hmviiig  loosely  down  her  shoulders ;  her  stature  and  eye  coia- 
manding  ;  htn  air  a:id  manner  austere  and  majestic.  On  such  occasion-', 
nothing  is  prci):ued  :  all  arises  out  of  the  emotion  excited  by  the  surround- 
ing circumstances  and  obj'jcts. 

"  Some  of  the  kindred  of  the  deceased  had  made  funeral  orations  on  his 
merits:  Ihey  measured  their  eulogies  by  bis  bounties;  he  was  wealthy  ; 
his  last  will  had  distributed  among  his  relations  his  fortune  and  effects; 
but  to  this  woman,  who  married  without  his  consent,  to  her,  his  favourite 
uiece,  a  widow,  and  with  many  children,  he  carried  his  resentment  to  the 
grave,  and  left  her  poor  and  totally  unprovided  for.  She  sat  long  in 
silence,  and  at  length,  slowly,  and  with  a  measured  pace,  approaching  the 
dead  body  from  a  distant  quarter  of  the  room,  with  the  serenest  calm  of 
meditation,  laying  her  hand  on  his  forehead,  she  paused:  and,  whilst  all 
present  expected  a  passionate  and  stormy  expression  of  her  anger  and 
disappointment,  she  addressed  these  few  words  to  him  :  'Those  of  my  kin- 
dred who  have  uttered  praises,  and  poured  them  forth  with  their  tears,  to 
the  memory  of  the  deceased,  did  that  \vhi.;]i.  by  force  of  obligation,  tbey 


54:  LIFE   OF   CUKKAN. 

were  bound  to  do.  They  have  beea  benefited  ;  they  have,  in  their  different 
degrees,  profited  by  that  bounty  which  he  could  no  longer  withhold.  He 
forgot,  in  his  life,  the  exercise  of  that  generosity  by  which -his  memory 
might  now  be  held  regarded  and  embalmed  in  the  hearts  of  a  disinte- 
rested affection.  Such  consolation,  however,  as  these  purchased  praises 
could  impart  to  his  spirit,  I  would  not,  by  any  impiety,  tear  from  him. 
Cold  in  death  is  this  head,  not  colder  than  that  heart  while  living,  through  • 
which  no  thrill  of  nature  did  ever  vibrate.  This  has  thrown  the  errors  of 
my  youth,  and  of  an  impulse  too  obedient  to  that  affection  which  I  still 
cherish,  into  poverty  and  sorrow,  heightened  beyond  hope  by  the  loss  of 
him  who  is  now  in  heaven,  and  still  more  by  the  tender  pledges  he  has 
left  after  him  on  earth.  But  I  shall  not  add  to  these  reflections  the  bitter 
remorse  of  inflicting  even  a  merited  calumny  ;  and  because  my  blood 
coursed  through  hip  veins,  I  shall  not  have  his  memory  scored  or  tortured 
by  the  expression  of  my  disappointment,  or  of  the  desolation  which  sweeps 
thrf>agh  my  heart.  It,  therefore,  best  becomes  me  to  say,  his  faith  and 
hotior,  in  the  other  relations  of  life,  were  just  and  exact ;  and  that  these 
m.iy  have  imposed  a  severity  on  his  principles  and  manners.  The  tears 
which  now  swell  my  eyes  are  those  I  cannot  check ;  but  they  rise  like  bub- 
bles on  a  mountain-stream — they  burst  never  more  to  appear."] 

One  conjecture  more  shall  be  hazarded,  and  so  pleasing  a  one, 
tliat  few  can  wish  it  to  be  unfounded.  It  was  probably  from  this 
early  intercourse  with  the  peasantry  of  his  country,  and  from  the 
consequent  conviction  of  their  unmerited  degradation,  that  sprang 
that  unaffected  soul-felt  sympathy  for  their  condition,  so  conspicu- 
ous in  Mr.  Curran's  political  career.  Upon  this  subject,  it  was 
evident  that  his  heart  was  detply  involved.  From  them,  notwith- 
standing much  temptation  and  many  dangers,  his  aftections  never 
wavered  for  an  instant.  From  the  first  dawn  of  political  obliga- 
tion upon  his  mind  to  his  latest  hour  (an  interval  of  more  than 
half  a  century),  he  never  thought  or  spoke  of  them  but  with 
tenderness,  and  pity.     At  the  bar,  in  the  senate,*  on  the  bench, 

*  Upon  one  occasion,  alluding  in  parliamep'  to  the  general  apathy  of  the  ministry  to 
ihe  condition  of  the  great  body  of  the  Irisl  pepp'e.  he  observed  :  "  I  am  sorry  to  see  that 
the  rays  of  the  honourable  member's  pan-~yric  were  not  vertical ;  like  the  beams  of  the 
morning,  they  courted  the  mountain-tops,  and  left  the  valleys  unilluminated— they  fell 
only  upon  the  great,  while  the  miserable  poor  were  left  in  the  shade."— 2>«&((<e8  m  Irish 
Bouse  of  Comm</ns,  1781— C. 


HIS   EAKLY   BUCOESS.  55 

amidst  his  family  and  friends,  or  in  the  society  of  tlie  ro^t  illus- 
trious personages  of  the  empire,  the  sufferings  of  the  Irali  peat-;iiit 
were  remembered,  and  their  cause  pleaded  with  an  cr.argy  and 
reality  that  proved  how  well  he  knew,  and  how  de^piy  he  felt  for, 
that  class  whose  calamities  he  deplored,  "  At  any  time  of  my  life,'' 
said  he,  "  I  might,  to  a  certain  degree,  as  well  as  others.  Lavs  tied 
up  my  countrymen  in  bundles,  and  sold  them  at  the  filthy  market 
of  corruption,  and  have  raised  myself  to  wealtli  and  station,  and 
remorse — to  the  envy  of  the  foolish,  and  the  contempt  of  the  wise ; 
but  I  thought  it  more  becoming  to  remain  below  among  them,  to 
mourn  over  and  console  them ;  or,  where  ray  duty  called  upon 
me,  to  reprimand  and  rebuke  them,  vfhen  they  'ore  acting 
against  themselves." 

In  some  of  the  published  Jiccounts  of  Mr.  Curran's  life,  it  has 
been  stated  that,  when  at  the  Temple,  and  afterwards  while  strug- 
gling into  notice  at  the  bar,  he  derived  part  of  his  subsistence 
from  contributions  to  literary  works ;  but  for  tliis  there  is  no  foun- 
dation. During  the  first  year  of  his  residence  in  London,  his  means 
were  supplied  partly  by  his  relatives  in  Ireland,  and  partly  by 
some  of  his  more  affluent  companions,  who  considered  his  talentp 
a  sufficient  security  for  their  advances..  In  the  second  year,  he 
married  a  daughter  of  the  Dr.  Creagh  already  mentioned ;  her 
2>ortion  was  not  considerable,  but  it  was  so  carefully  managed,  and 
his  success  at  the  bar  was  so  rapid,  that  he  vras  e\er  after  a 
stranger  to  pecuniary  difficulties. 

It  may,  too,  be  here  observed  that,  had  he  beta  originally  more 
favoured  by  fortune,  liis  prospect  of  dic-tinguishuu  success  in  his 
profession  might  not  have  been  so  great.  There  is,  perhaps,  fuily 
as  much  truth  as  humour  in  the  assertion  of  an  English  jatjj\,e, 
that  a  barrister's  fiist  requisite  for  attaining  eminence  is  "no'  to  be 
worth  a  s-iilUn-jr*     The  attractions  of  the  bar,  when  viewed  from 

*  Tlie  leciT.y;  judge  alluded  to,  upon  being  asked  "AVliat  conduced  most  to  a  barris- 
ter's success  ""  'o  said  to  ti;ivc  replied,  "  that  barristers  succeeded  by  many  nr.cthods  ; 
some  by  great  'jlknis.  snmr  by  hixh  i.'(iiiiiectioi.s,  some  by  a  miracle,  but  the  majforiiy  by 
eotmtieiicing  uUkvul  <i  shilliuQ  "  -C. 


56  lAFE    OF    CUKKAN. 

a  distario"*,  "/ill  dazzle  and  seduce  for  a  while.     To  a  young  and 
generous  spirit,  it  seems,  no  doubt,  a  proud  thing  to  mix  in  a 
scene  wliei'..  merit  and  talent  alone  are  honoured,  where  he  can 
euudate  the  example,  and  perhaps  reach  the  distinctions  of  our 
Hale-,  and  HoiL-,  and  Manstields.     But  all  this  fancied  loveliness 
of  ihe  prospect  vanislies,  the  moment  you  approach  and  attempt 
to  ascend.    As  a  calling,  the  bar  is  perhaps  the  most  difficult,  and, 
alter  the  first  glow  of  enthusiasm  has  gone  by,  the  most  repelling. 
I'o  say  nothing  of  tlie  violence  of  the  competition,  which  alone 
renders   it   the    mos-t   hozr.rdous   of  professions,   the   intellectual 
labour,  and  the  uninteliectual  drudgery  that  it  involves,  are  such 
as  fcw  have  the  capacity,  or,  without  the  strongest  incitements, 
the  patieace  to  endure.     To  an  ac:ive  and  philosophic  mind,  the 
mere  a.-t  of  reasoning,  the  simple  perception  of  relations,  whatever 
the  subject  matter  may  be,  is  an  exercise  in  which  a  mind  so  con- 
stituted may  dehght;  but,  to  such  a  one,  the  study  of  the  law  has 
but  little  to  offer.     If  tlie  body  of  English  law  be  a  scientific  sys- 
tem, it  is  a  long  time  a  secret  to  the  student :  it  has  few  immuta- 
ble truths,  few  master-maxims,  few  regular  series  of  necessary  and 
nicely  adapted  inferences.      In  vain  ■^ill  the  student  look  for  a 
few  general  principles,  to  whose  fiiendly  giii<huice  he  may  trust, 
to  conduct  him  unerringly  to  his  object:  to  him,  it  is  all  perplex- 
ity, caprice,  an;"  contrailiction* — arbitrary  and  mysterious  rales, 
of  which  to  traco  and  couiprehend  the  reasons  is  the  work  of 
ycitrs — forced  ccnstructions,  to  which  no  equity  of  intention  can 
reconcile — log'ca?  evasions,  from  which  the  mind's  pride  indig- 
iitintly  revo't^ — of  all  these,  the  young  lawyer  meets  abimdance  in 
his  boo-is ;   and  to  encounter  and  tolerate  them,  he  must  have 

♦  Tblfl  wag,  £.t  least,  what  Mr.  Curran  found  it.    In  his  poem  on  "  FrlenJship,"  already 
nieai:32eui,  ho  ssys : 

"Oft,  when  condemn'd  'midst  Gothic  tomes  to  pour, 
And,  dubious,  con  th'  embarras'd  sentence  o'er, 
While  meteor  meaning  sheds  a  sickly  ray 
Through  the  thick  gloom,  then  vanishes  away. 
With  the  dull  toil  tired  out,  th'  indignant  mind 
Bursts  from  the  yoke,  and  wanders  unconfined." — C. 


THE    AMKKICAN    BAR.  57 

some  stronger  inducement  than  a  mere  literal  ambition  of  learn- 
ing or  of  fame.  We  consequently  find  that  there  is  no  other 
profession  supplying  so  many  members  who  never  advance  a  single 
step ;  no  other  which  so  many  abandon,  disgusted  and  disheart- 
ened by  the  sacrifices  that  it  exacts. 

To  these  fearful  pursuits,  Mi-.  Curran  brought  every  requisite  of 
mind  and  character,  and  education,  besides  the  above  and  grand 
requisite  of  want  of  fortune.  Instead  of  being  surprised  at  his 
eminent  success,  the  wonder  would  have  been  if  such  a  man  had 
failed.  Having  acquirements  and  hopes,  and  a  station,  above  his 
circuniiiiances,  to  hold  his  ground,  lie  could  not  allow  his  powers 
to  slumber  for  a  moment.  His  poverty,  his  [iride,  a  secret  consci- 
ousness of  his  value,  and  innate  superstitious  drc?d  of  obscurity, 
"that  last  infirmity  of  noble  mind':,"  kept  him  forever  in  ^notion, 
and.  impatient  to  realize  his  own  expectations,  and  the  predictions 
of  those  friends  by  whom  his  efforts  were  applauded  and  .H*si;sted. 

It  appears,  in  a  passage  of  one  of  his  letters  from  the  Temple, 
that  he  had,  for  a  while,  an  idea  of  trying  his  fortune  at  the 
American  bar.  "Mrs.  W.,"  says  he,  "concluded  L;v  I'.'tter  Vv'ith 
mentioning  her  purpose  of  revisiting  America,  and  i-ip^fitiug  her 
former  advice  to  me  on  that  subject.  As  for  my  part,  I  aiu  totally 
undetermined.  I  may  well  say,  with  Sir  Roger  de  Covevly.  that 
'  much  may  be  said  on  both  sides.'  The  scheme  uight  bo  .attended 
with  advantage,  yet  I  fear  my  mother,  especially,  would  not  be 
easily  reconciled  to  such  a  step."  But  he  su  >n  alandoned.  the 
idea;  for,  in  a  letter  dated  a  few  weeks  after,  he  cays:  "As  to  the, 
American  project,  I  presume  it  is  unnecessary  to  tell  you  that  the 
motives  are  <io\v  no  more,  and  that  the  design  has  espirel  of  conse- 
quence. I  have  been  urged  to  be  called  to  that  bar,  and  my  chief 
inducement  was  my  friendship  for  Mrs.  W.,  to  whom  I  mi^ht  be 
useful  in  that  way ;  but  there  is  so  little  likelihood  of  her  jjjoing, 
that  I  shall  scarcely  have  an  opportunity  of  sacrificing  that 
motive  to  my  attachment  for  Ireland." 


68  LIFE   OF   CUKRAN. 


CHAPTER  m. 


Mr.  Curran  called  to  the  Irish  Bar— Dissimilarities  I'itween  that  and  the  Kaglish  Bar- 
Causes  of  the  Pifference. 


Mr.  Curran  was  called  in  Micliaelnias  term,  IVTS,  to  the  Irish 
bar.  which  was  to  occupy  so  distiiigaiished  a  poi'tion  of  his  future 
life  ;  but  as  the  genius  and  habits  of  that  bar,  during  the  whole 
of  his  career,  dilfered  in  many  particulars  essentially  from  that  of 
England,  it  will  be  necessary  to  make  a  passing  allusion  to  tliose 
distinctions,  without  which  English  readers  might  find  it  difficult 
to  reconcile  the  specimens  of  his  eloquence  that  occur  in  the  fol- 
lowing pages,  with  their  previous  ideas  of  forensic  oratory. 

No  person  who  has  attended  to  the  course  of  forensic  proceei- 
ings  in  the  two  countries  can  have  failed  to  have  observed,  that 
while  in  England  they  are  (with  a  very  few  exceptions)  carried  on 
with  cold  and  rigorous  formalityj  in  Ireland  they  have  not  unfre- 
quently  boea.  mar}.  ?^1  by  the  utmort  vivacity  and  eloquence.  The 
English  br,xristcr,  ov^n  in  cases  of  the  deepest  interest,  where 
powerful  emotioEs  a-.e  to  be  excited,  seldom  ventures  to  exercise  his 
imagiuation,  if,  indeed,  long  habits  of  restraint  have  left  him  the 
caT>aci<y  io  'lo  so:  yet  in  the  Irish  courts,  not  only  are  such  sub- 
ie'jts  discussed  in  a  style  of  the  most  impassioned  .oratory,  but 
raartV  examples  might  be  produced,  where  questions  more  strictly 
tecLnical,  and  apparently  the  most  inappropriate  themes  of  elo- 
quence, have  still  been  made  the  occasion  of  very  fervid  appeals 
to  thb  feelings  or  the  fancy.  This  latitude  of  ornament  and 
digression,  once  so  usual  at  the  Irisli  bar,  has  been  never  known, 
ftnd  would  never  have  been  tolerated  in  Westminster  Hall.    It 


lEISH   FORENSIC   ORATORY.  59 

would  be  there  accounted  no  less  new  than  extravagant  to  hear  a 
counsel  pathetically  reminding  the  presiding  judge  of  the  convi- 
vial meetings  of  their  early  days,*  or  enlivening  his  arguments 
on  a  grave  question  of  law  by  humorous  illustration .f  Yet  was 
all  this  listened  to  in  Ireland  with  favor  and  admiration.  It  had, 
indeed,  little  inlluence  upon  the  decisions  of  the  bench.  The 
advocate  might  have  excited  the  smiles  or  tears  of  his  hearers, 
but  no  legal  concessions  followed.  The  Judges  who  showed  the 
most  indulgence  and  sensibility  to  these  episodes  of  fancy  were 
ever  the  most  conscientious  in  preserving  the  sacred  stability  of 
law.  Into  the  Counsel's  mirth  or  tenderness,  no  matter  how 
digressive,  they  entered  for  the  moment  more  pleased  than  other- 
wise with  irreofularities  that  ffratified  their  taste  and  relieved  their 
labour  ;  but  -with  them  the  triumph  of  eloquence  was  but  evanes- 
cent— the  oration  over,  they  resumed  their  gravity  and  firmness, 
and  proved  by  their  ultimate  decision,  that  if  they  relaxed  for  an 
instant,  it  was  from  urbanity,  and  not  from  any  oblivion  of  the 
paramount  duties  of  their  station.  The  effects,  however,  which" 
such  appeals  to  the  passions  produced  (as  they  still  continue  to 
do)  upon  juries,  was  very  diti'erent;  and  when  the  advocate  trans- 
ferred the  same  style  into  his  addresses  to  the  bench,  it  was  not 
that  his  judgment  had  selected  it  as  the  most  appropriate,  but 

*  See  Mr.  Curran's  apostrophe  to  Lord  Avonmore,  chap.  W. — C. 

t  Of  these  examples  without  number  might  be  produceil  from  Mr.  Curran's  law  argu- 
ments. His  published  speech  in  tlie  Court  of  Exchequer,  on  Mr.  Justice  Johnson's  case, 
is  full  of  them.  Equ;illy  striking  instances  occur  in  his  argument  on  the  same  question 
before  the  Court  of  King's  Utnch.  "  The  minister  going  to  the  House  of  Commons  might 
be  arrested  upon  the  information  of  an  Irish  chairman,  and-  the  warrant  of  a  trading 
justice.  Mr.  Pitt  might  be  brought  over  here  in  vineuUs.  What  to  do  ?  to  see  whether 
he  can  be  bailed  or  not.  I  remember  Mr.  Fox  was  once  here — during  the  lifetime  of  this 
country — so  might  he  be  brought  over.  It  may  facilitate  the  intercourse  between  the 
countries,  for  any  man  may  travel  at  the  public  expense  ;  as,  suppose  I  gave  an  Irish- 
taan  in  London  a  small  assauli  in  trust,  when  the  vacation  comes,  he  knocks  at  the  door 
of  a  trading  justice,  and  tells  him  he  wants  a  warrant  against  the  counsellor.  What 
counsellor  ?  Oh,  sure  every  body  knows  the  counsellor.  Well,  friend,  and  what  is  your 
name?  Thady  O'Flannigan,  please  your  honour.  What  countryman  are  you?  An 
Englishman,  by  con.stniction.  Very  well,  I  '11  draw  upon  my  correspondent  io  Ireland 
for  the  body  of  the  counsellor." — C. 


60  LIFE   OF   CURFO". 

because  he  found  it  iuipossible  to  avoid  relapsing  into  tliose  mc-des 
of  influencing  the  mind,  which  he  had  been  long  habituated  to 
employ  with  so  much  success  in  another  quarter. 

In  accounting  for  this  adoption  at  the  Irish  bar,  of  a  stylo  of 
eloquence  so  much  more  fervid  and  poetical  than  the  severer 
notions  of  the  English  Courts  would  approve,  something  must  be 
attributed  to  the  influence  of  the  national  character.  From  what 
ever  cause  it  has  arisen,  iJie  Tiish  are  by  temperament  confessedly 
more  warii.  aiul  impetuous  tljan  their  neighbours:  their  passions 
lying  nearer  the  surface,  their  actions  are  more  governed  by 
impulse,  and  their  diciiun  more  adorned  by  imagination,  than  it 
would  be  reasonable  to  expect  in  a  colder,  more  advanced,  and 
philosophic  people.  In  addressing  persons  so  constituted,  the 
methods  most  likely  to  prevail  are  sufficiently  obvious.  The  ora- 
tor, who  knows  anything  of  his  art,  must  be  aware  that  frigid 
demonstration  alone  is  not  tlie  best  adapted  to  men  who  lake  a 
kind  of  pride  in  regulating  iheir  decisions  by  their  emotions,  and 
that  a  far  more  certain  artifice  of  persuasion  must  be  to  fill  their 
minds  with  those  glowing  topics  by  which  they  habitually  per- 
suade themselves. 

It  may  be  observed,  too,  that  although  tlie  habits  of  mind 
which  must  be  cultivated,  iu  order  to  succeed  in  such  a  style  of 
eloquence,  are  altogether  different  from  those  involved  in  the  study 
of  the  law ;  yet  in  Ireland  they  have  never  been  deemed  incom- 
patible with  legal  occupations.  The  preparation  for  the  bar 
there  has  never  been  so  entirely  technical  as  it  usually  is  in 
Eno-land :  a  very  general  taste  for  polite  literature  and  popular 
acquirements  has  been  united  Avith  the  more  stern  and  laborious 
attainments  of  professional  knowledge,  and  it  is  to  this  combina- 
tion of  pursuits,  that  invigorate  the  understanding  with  those 
which  exercise  the  imagination  and  improve  the  taste,  that  must 
be  attributed  that  mass  of  varied  and  efl'eetive  talent,  which  has 
so  long  existed  among  the  members  of  the  Irish  bar. 

But  the  immediate  cause  of  that  animated  style  of  eloquence 


ENGL.3H   BAli    ORATORY.  6 J. 

that  has  of  late  vc- irs  prevailed  there,  appears  to  have  been  the 
influenco  of  tlie  frish  House  of  Commons. 

It  ■^^  IS  principally  in  the  ]">  rod  actions  of  the  eminent  leaders  in 
that  iioi  se,  that  orig^inated  the  modern  school  of  Irish  oratory. 
In  Ireland  this  popular  style  made  its  way  from  the  senate  to  the 
bar ;  though  at  first  view  sui/h  a  transition  may  not  seem  either 
necessary  or  n^itural.  In  England  it  has  not  taken  place.  At  the 
time  that  the  first  Mr.  Pitt,  the  pride  of  the  English  senate,  was 
exalting  and  delighting  his  auditors  by  the  majesty  of  his  con- 
ceptions and  the  intrepid  originality  of  his  diction,  Westminstei 
Hall  remained  inaccessible  to  any  contagious  inspiration.  At  a 
later  period,  upon  the  memorable  trial  of  Warren  Hastings,  the 
contrast  is  brought  more  palpably  to  view.  While  the  celebrated 
tirosecutors  in  that  cause  were  soarinij  as  hio-h  as  imao-ination 
could  find  language  to  sustain  it,  while  they  were  "  shaking  the 
walls  thai  surroanded  them  with  those  anathemas  of  super-human 
eloquence,"*  •vvjiicli  remain  among  the  recorded  models  of  British 
oratory,  the  lawyers,  who  conducted  the  defence,  were  in  general 
content  to  retaliate  with  tranquil  argument  and  uninspired  refuta- 
tion. Introduction,  there(l>re,  of  the  parliamentary  manner  into 
the  courts  of  Ireland,  is  to  be  accounted  for  by  some  (Louni- 
stances  peculiar  to  tl  *  .  oinitry. 

During  that  period  when  eloquence  flourished  ir<ost  in  the  Irish 
Parliament,  that  is,  for  the  last  forty  years  cl  its  c.isience,  th^* 
number  of  bai'risters  in  the  House  of  Coinmons  bore  a  much 


*  Ersklne's  ikfence  of  Stockilala.  This  celebrated  advocate  maybe  ailduceJ  in  rcfu 
taUon  of  some  of  the  above  oi>inion3,  and  it  must  be  admitted  that  in  some  degree  he 
forms  an  exception  ;  yet,  witliont  inquiiing  now,  whether  hia  was  a  style  of  eloquence 
peculiar  to  the  individual,  or  characteristic  to  the  English  bur,  it  may  be  observed,  llia.t 
it  Jiffered  essentially  from  that  which  prevailed  at  this  time  in  the  British  parliament, 
and  to  a  still  greater  extent  in  the  Irish  senate  and  at  the  Irish  bar.  If  he  had  produced 
many  such  passages  as  that  of  the  American  savage,  it  would  have  been  otherwise  ;  but 
his  general  strength  did  not  lie  in  the  fervour  of  his  imagination ;  it  was  by  the  vigour  n! 
his  ethics  and  his  logic,  enforced  by  illustrations  rather  felicitious  than  impassioned, 'l.a' 
he  brought  over  the  judgment  to  his  side.  It  is  not  intended  by  these  remarks  to  assign 
b  superiority  to  either  style — it  is  to  be  supposed  that  the  eminent  advocates  of  the  two 
bars  ac'ipted  (he  manner  that  was  bi's'  Kniied  to  their  respective  countries. — C. 


62  LIFE   OF   OUBRAN. 

greater  proporticn  to  the  whole  than  has  been  -.d  any  time  lisual 
in  England.  In  those  days  the  policy  by  which  Ireiav,'!  was 
governed  being  in  the  utmost  degree  unpopular,  the  whole  patro- 
nage of  the  Irish  administration  was  necessarily  expended  in 
alluring  supporters  of  the  measures  against  which  the  nation 
exclaimed.  A  majority  of  numbers  in  the  House  of  Commons 
could  then  be  easily  procured,  and  for  a  long  time  such  a  majority 
had  been  sufficient  for  every  purpose  of  the  government :  but  at 
that  period  in  question,  the  increasing  influence  and  talent  of  the 
minority  rendered  it  necessary  to  adopt  every  method  of  oppos- 
ing them  (if  possible)  with  a  predominance  of  intellect.  The 
means  of  doing  this,  it  would  appear,  were  not  to  be  found  in 
that  body  which  ruled  the  country,  and  recourse  was  had  to  the 
expedient  of  enlisting  the  rising  men  of  the  bar  in  the  service  of 
the  Administration.*  Accordingly,  every  barristc-r  who  had 
popular  abilities  enough  to  render  his  support  of  any  moment, 
found  a  ready  admission  into  Parliament,  upon  the  condition  of 
his  declaring  for  the  Viceroy ;  and  in  the  event  of  his  displaying 
sufl[icient  talent  and  constancy,  was  cejtain  of  being  rewarded 
with  the  highest  honours  of  his  profession. 

But  independent  of  those  who  were  thus  introduced  to  the 
senate,  the  bar  wr.s  ilie  ])r_.iession  most  g^u-^rally  resorted  to  by 
the  members    "^r  dependents  of  the  highest  families ;  as  one  h> 

*  6acli  was  the  commencement  of  (among  others)  the  late  Lord  Clonmel's  fortune. 
"The  Marquis  of  Townshend  had  expressed  his  wishes  to  Lord  Chancellor  Lifford,  for  the 
assistance  of  some  young  gentleman  of  the  bar,  on  whose  talent  and  fidelity  he  mitrl::  rely, 
in  the  severe  parliamentary  campaigns  then  (1T6D)  likely  to  take  place.  Lord  Lifford, 
recommended  Mr.  Scott,  who  was  accordingly  returned  to  parliament,  to  oppose  the  party 
led  on  by  the  celebrated  Flood." — Hardy^s  Life  of  Lord.  Charlemord.  The  necessity 
of  calling  in  such  aid  gives  us  but  a  poor  idea  of  the  education  and  talents  of  the  Irish 
aristocracy  of  the  time.  Mr  Grattan,  in  1797,  thus  mentions  the  great  improvement  in 
the  intellect  of  his  country  that  he  had  witnessed.  "  The  progress  of  the  human  mind 
in  the  course  of  the  last  twenty-five  years  has  been  prodigious  in  Ireland  ;  I  remember 
when  there  scarcely  appeared  a  publication  in  a  newspaper  of  any  degree  of  merit, 
which  has  not  been  traced  to  some  person  of  note,  on  the  part  of  government  or  the 
opposition;  but  now  a  multitude  of  very  powerful  publications  appear,  from  authors 
entirely  unknown,  of  ;,rofound  and  spirited  investigation." — Letter  to  the  citizens  of 
Dublm—G. 


POLITICS   AND   LAWS.  63 

which,  without  any  claim  of  merit,  they  could,  through  the 
influence  of  their  patrons,  obtain  situations  of  professional  emolu- 
ment, and  where,  if  they  possessed  such  a  claim,  the  road  was  so 
open  to  legal  pi-eferment  and  to  political  distinction ;  and  con- 
sequently all  of  the  latter  description,  recommended  by  their 
talents,  and  supported  bv  the  power  of  their  connexions,  found 
access  to  the  House  of  Commons,  long  before  that  period  of 
standing  and  of  professional  r«;putation,  at  which  the  successful 
English  barrister  is  accu5iomc<i  or  deems  it  prudent  to  become  a 
senator. 

These  circumstances  alone  would  in  a  great  degree  account 
for  the  number  of  lawyers  in  tho  Irish  Parliament;  but  it  should 
be  farther  observed,  th<rt  it  was  not  any  particular  class  that 
looked  to  or  obtained  a  seat  ir,  thi^t  assembly :  the  ambition  of 
appearing  there  was  ver^  general  at  the  Irish  bar ;  it  was  the 
grand  object  upon  which  every  enterprising  barrister  fixed  1  is 
eye  and  his  heart.  Tiiis  was  the  age  of  political  speculati'^r.  ;  it 
was  "Ireland's  lifetime."  Great  original  questions  were  dally  in 
her  Parliament :  the  struggle  between  popular  claims  and  ancient 
prerogatives  was  a  scene  wher<"  much  seemed  likely  to  b^^  gained 
— by  the  venal  for  themselves,  by  tl.e  honest  for  their  country; 
but  whether  considered  as  a  post  of  honour  or  of  profit,  is  was 
one  to  which  men  of  colder  temperaments  than  the  Irish  might 
be  easily  moved  to  aspire. 

The  consequence  of  this  intermixture  of  political  with  legal  pur- 
suits was,  that  the  talents  most  suited  to  a<;lvance  the  former  were 
much  cultivated  and  constantly  exercised ;  and  from  this  difter- 
ence  in  the  objects  and  habits  of  the  bars  of  the  two  countries 
appear  to  have  principally  resulted  the  dift'erent  styles  of  oratory 
displayed  by  the  members  of  each,  both  in  their  parliamentary 
and  forensic  exertions.  The  English  barrister,  long  disci}>lincd  to 
technical  observances,  having  passed  the  vigour  of  his  intellect 
in  submissive  reverence  to  rules  and  authorities,  brings  into  the 
House  of  Commons  the  same  subtle  propensities,  and  the  same 


64  LfFE   OP   CURE  AN. 

dread  of  expanded  investigation  and  of  rhetorical  orna'nient  that 
his  professional  duties  imposed;  but  in  Ireland  the  leading  coun- 
sel were  also  from  an  early  age  disiinguished  members  of  the 
senate.  If  in  the  morning  their  horizon  was  bounded  by  their 
briefs,  in  a  few  hours  their  ininds  were  free  to  rise,  and  extend  it 
as  far  as  the  statesman's  eye  could  reach ;  they  had  the  daily 
excitation  and  tumult  of  popular  debate  to  clear  away  any 
momentary  stagnations  of  fancy  \.yi-  enterprize;  the  lawyer  became 
enlarged  into  the  legislator,  a)!d  instead  of  introducing  into  the 
eftbrts  of  the  latter  the  coldness  ,ind  constraint  of  his  professional 
"manner,  he  rather  delighted  to  carry  back  with  him  to  the  forum, 
all  the  fervour,  and  pomp,  ^id  copiousness  of  the  deliberative 
style. 

The  Parliament  of  Irelan  I,  the  nurse  of  the  genius  and  am- 
bition of  its  bar,  is  now  extinci ;  but  the  impulse  that  it  gave  is 
Lot  yet  spent ;  the  old  have  not  yet  forgotten  the  inspiration  of 
the  i.;ene  where  they  beheld  so  many  accomplished  orators  pass 
their  :i;ost  glorious  hours ;  the  young  cannot  hear  without  a  throb 
of  emu  dtion  the  many  wonderous  things  of  that  proud  work  of 
tlieir  f..,:]iers,  which  was  levelled  for  having  towered  too  high ; 
nor  is  :he  genei'al  regret  o;  the  bar  for  its  fall  unincreased  by 
their  possession  and  duily  admiration  of  two  noble  and  still  per- 
fect relics,  attesting  the  magnificence  of  the  structure  they  have 
survived.* 

Another  peculiarity  of  ihe  Iri.-h  bar  that  is  now  pajsing  away, 
but  wlii,-h  prevailed  to  a  great  extent  during  Mr.  Curran's  foi'ensic 
career,  was  the  frequency  of  collision  between  the  bar  and  the 
bench.  It  was  often  his  fate  to  be  involved  in  them,  and  many 
are  the  instances  of  the  pi-oniptness  of  repartee,  and  of  the  indig- 
i:ant  intrepidity  with  which,  on  all  such  occasions,  he  defended  the 

*  Messrs.  Busl.e  and  Plunkett,  two  of  the  members  of  the  Jnsy  House  of  Commons 
the  most  distinguished  for  eloquence,  continue  at  the  Irish  bar.-C.  [This  was  written  in 
ISIS.  Bushe  became  Lord  Chief  Justice  of  Ireland  in  1822,  and  died  in  1843.  Plunkett 
twice  Irish  Lord  Ch.iticellor,  died  IS.'i^,  a  British  Peer.— M.] 


JUBiciAr.  rKOMoTio>v's.  05 

privileges  of  the  advocate.  It  will  be  presently  seen  that  he  had 
scarcely  appeared  at  the  bar,  when  he  showed  how  he  could 
encounter  and  triumph  over  all  the  taunts  and  menaces  of  a  hos- 
tile judge.  The  same  spirit  of  resistance  and  retaliation  will  be 
found  in  his  contests  with  Lord  Clare ;  and  at  a  much  subsequent 
period,  when  he  was  exertinf;  himself  in  a  cause  with  his  charac- 
'^eristic  firmness,  the  pre^idirg  judge  having  called  the  sheritf  to 
be  ready  to  take  into  cust^'v  any  one  who  should  disturb  the 
decorum  of  his  court,  "Do,  "Slv.  Slieriff,"  replied  Mr.  Curran,  "go 
and  get  ready  my  duni;"(>7i ;  pi'epare  a  bed  of  straw  fir  ms: 
and  upon  that  led  I  sh:!i'  to-night  repose  with  more  tranquillity 
than  I  should  enjoy  v/cve  T  sitting  upon  that  bench  with  a  con 
sciousness  that  I  disgiac^'d  il."' 

The  same  political  cau.;''b  that  have  been  already  ril-uded  to  a. 
iniiuencino-  the  oratory  ^^  the  Irish  bar,  will,  in  a  Gfreat  mcioUie, 
account  for  these  contlitts  in  the  courts,  antl  for  that  tone  of  >•!;■ 
casm  and  defiance  a?s'.:med  by  the  barrister  on  such  occasionG. 

Tt  was  one  of  the  public  calamities  of  the  period  when  such 
S(.-enes  were  most  frequent,  that,  in  the  selection  of  persons  to  tili 
the  judicial  seat,  n;r,j(i  attention  was  often  i)aid  to  family  interest 
and  political  ser-ices  iban  to  the  claims  of  merit,  or  the  benefit 
of  the  community.  X*--  doubt,  it  sometimes  happened  that  this 
important  oflice  was  bostM.ved  upon  men,  to  whom  the  appoint- 
ment to  situations  of  jionoin  and  of  trust  was  less  a  gift,  than  the 
payment  of  the  justest  debt.  What  dignity  could  be  too  exalted 
for  the  learned  and  accompiisl,-^d  Lord  Avonmore  ?  What  trust 
too  sacred  for  Lord  Kilwarden,  tb.--  most  conscientious,  ami  pacific. 
Mild   nitTcifuI    of  men?*      liut  i:   T.-eland   behL-id   such    persons 

*  Arthur  Wolfe,  son  of  a  country  gentleinan  in  Kildaro,  w:w  I'orn  in  1733,  became  a 
barrister,  and  soon  after,  a  menibi;r  of  the  Irish  parliament.  Iti  liiis  IhIIlT  capacity, 
Biding  with  the  government,  he  contended  with  Flood  and  Giattan.  He  wi'8  ai/pciuted 
Solicitor-ticneral  in  1787,  Attorney-General  in  17S9,  and  Chief  .Justice  of  Irelaaiin  U9S, 
being  then  created  Lord  Kilwarden  :  in  1800  was  raised  to  the  rank  of  Viscourt,  ii;jd  in 
1S02  was  made  Vice-Chancellnr  of  the  University  of  Dublin.  On  the  evening  of  Joly  23, 
1803  (wlun  Einmett's  insurrection  prematurely  broke  out),  Lord  KilH-a.-Jen  WiS  ir.et  by  a 
band  of  armed  men,  in  Tliomas  street,  Dublin,  wtio  killed  him  and  liis  nep' ew  by  stab- 


QQ  LIFE  OF  OUKKAN. 

adornirg  their  station,  she  had  the  anguish  and  humiliation  to 
see  ot.liers  degrading  it  by  their  political  fury,  or  by  the  more 
ind-cent  gratification  of  their  particular  animosities.  Influenced 
by  such  unworthy  feelings  of  party  or  of  private  hostility,  the 
judges,  in  those  days,  were  too  prone  to  consider  it  a  branch  of 
their  official  duty  to  discountenance  any  symptoms  of  indepen- 
dence in  their  court;  and  though  at  times  they  may  have  suc- 
ceeded, yet,  at  others,  indignant  and  exemplary  was  the  retaliation 
to  vvl'.ich  such  a  departure  from  their  dignity  exposed  them  :  for  it 
was  not  unusual  that  the  persons  who  made  these  experiments 
upon  the  i-pirit  of  the  bar,  and  whose  politics  and  connections  had 
raised  them  to  a  place  of  nominal  superiority,  were,  in  public  con- 
sidei-ation,  and  in  every  intellectual  respect,  the  inferiors  of  the 
men  that  ihey  undertook  to  chide,  li  sometimes  happened,  too, 
that  the  parties,  whose  powers  might  be  less  unequal,  had  been 
eld  parliamentary  antagonists;  and  when  the  imputed  crimes  of 
:,}..'  oppositionist  came  to  be  visited  upon  the  advocate,  it  is  not 
surprising  that  he  should  have  retorted  with  pride,  and  acrimony, 
and  contempt.  Hence  arose  in  the  Irish  Cuurts  those  scenes  of 
personal  contention,  which  the  different  character  of  the  bench  in 
later  times  precludes,  and  which  (whatever  side  gain  the  victory) 
must  be  ever  deprecated  as  ruinous  to  ihe  oHent,  and  disgrac  eful 
to  that  spot,  within  whose  precincts  faction  and  passion  shoidd 
never  be  permitted  to  intrude. 

But  though  the  solemnity  of  judicial  proceedings  in  Ireland 
might  have  been  often  disturbed  by  the  preceding  causes,  they 
have  been  more  frequently  enlivened  by  others  of  a  less  unamiable 
description.  Notwithstanding  the  existence  there  of  that  religious 
and  political  bigotry  which  tends  to  check  every  cheerful  impulse, 
and,  in  their  place,  to  substitute  general  distrust  and  gloom,  these 
baneful  effects  have  been  powerfully  counteracted  by  the  more 

bing  them  with  pikes.  It  was  supposed  that  his  administration  of  the  Criminal  Law,  in 
ITftS,  had  created  enmity  to  him.  Lord  Kilwarden,  who  supported  the  Union,  was  an 
eloquent  spealter,  in  th:  Senate  as  well  as  at  the  bar,  and  a  very  eminent  lawyer.— M. 


FORENSIC   JOCULARITY.  67 

prevailing  influence  of  the  national  cbaracter.  The  honest  kiiiclly 
afi'ections  of  nature,  though  impeded,  have  still  kept  on  their 
course.  In  spite  of  all  the  sufferings  and  convulsioiis  of  the  last 
century,  the  social  vivacity  of  the  Irish  was  proverbial.  It  sub- 
sisted, as  it  still  subsists,  in  an  eminent  degree,  in  their  private 
intercourse ;  it  may  be  also  seen  constantly  breaking  forth  in  their 
public  discussions.  At  the  bar,  where  the  occasions  of  jocularity 
so  frequently  occur,  it  is,  as  might  be  expected,  most  strikingly 
displayed.  The  Irish  judges  have  not  disdained  to  resign  them- 
selves to  the  favourite  propensity  of  their  country.  The  humorous 
sally  or  classical  allusion,  which  would  have  pleased  at  the  t:ible, 
has  not  been  frowned  upon  from  the  bench ;  their  h?NtP  of  social 
Intimacy  with  the  bar,  and  their  own  tastes  as  scholars  and  com- 
panions, have  rather  prepared  them  to  tolerate,  and  even  join  in 
those  lively  irregularities  which  the  more  severe  decorum  of  West- 
minster Hall  might  condemn.  This  urbanity  and  indulgen.'.e  sf'll 
remains;  and  scarcely  a  term  passes  over  without  iMany  additions, 
either  from  the  bar  or  the  bench,  to  the  large  fund  of  Iiish 
forensic  humour.* 

A  more  frequent  and  less  dignified  description  of  mirth,  of 
which  so  much  may  be  observed  in  the  legal  proceedings  of 
Ireland,  is  that  which  originates  in  the  particular  character  of  the 
lower  orders  of  that  country.  They  abound  in  sagacity  and 
repartee — qualities  to  which,  when  appearing  as  unwilling  wit- 
nesses, or  when  struggling  under  (he  difficulties  of  a  cross-exami- 
nation, they  seldom  fail  to  fly  to  shelter.  Their  answers,  on  such 
occasions,  are  singularly  adroit  and  evasive,f  and  the  advocate  is 
conseqently  obliged  to  adopt  every  artifice  of  humour  and  ridi- 
cule, as  more  etlectual  than  seriousness  or  menace,  to  extract  the 
truth  and  expose  their  equivocations.     The  necessity  of  employing 


♦  It  I3  worth  noting  that  the  jokes  which  now  amuse  judges,  counsel,  clients,  and  wit- 
nesses, In  Courts  of  Law,  are  notoriously  poor  ones.  Real  forensic  fun  and  wit  appear  «r 
have  disappeared.    This  holds  good  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic. — M. 

t  See  Mr.  Curran's  cross-examination  of  O'Brien,  inserted  hereafter.— 0. 


68  LIFE    OF   CURRAN. 

such  methods  of  couroaii  Img  the  kuavi.sh  ingenuity  of  .i  witness, 
perpetually  occasions  tlie  iriost  striking  contrasts  between  the 
solemnity  of  the  subjects,  and  the  levity  of  the  language  in  which 
they  are  investigated.  It  is  particularly  in  the  Irish  criminal 
courts  that  scenes  of  this  complicated  interest  most  constantly 
occm-.  In  the  front  appear  the  counsel  and  the  evidence  in  a 
dramatic  contest,  at  which  the  auditors  cannot  refrain  from  bursts 
of  lauo-hter,  and  at  a  little  distance  behind,  the  prisoner  under 
trial,  gazit.g  jpon  them  with  agonized  attention,  and  catching  at  a 
prt'^a^'o  of  his  fate  in  the  alternating  dexterity  or  fortune  of  the 
combatants. 

This  intru-.ion  oflevity  into  proceedings  that  should  be  mai-ked 
by  pomp  and  .lignity  may  be  indecei.t,  but  it  is  inevitable.  With- 
out this  latitude  of  examination,  no  right  would  be  secure,  and, 
when  exerted,  no  gravity  can  resist  its  influence ;  even  the  felons 
visage  is  nften  roused  from  its  expression  of  torpid  despair  by  the 
sallies  tnal,  accompany  the  disclosure  of  his  crimes.  As  long, 
tlierefbro  as  the  Irish  populace  retain  their  present  character  of 
vivacity  and  a<juteness,  the  Irish  advocate  must  cultivate  and  dis- 
play his  powers  of  humour,  often,  perhaps,  to  a  greater  extent 
than  his  own  better  taste  would  desire ;  and  the  courts,  aware  of 
the  necessity  of  such  an  instrument  for  eliciting  the  truth,  will  not 
consider  i"  incumbent  on  them  to  interfere  with  its  use. 


EAJRLY    KEPUTATION.  69 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Ml-.  Cun-an's  early  success  at  the  bar— His  contest  with  Judge  Robinson— His  defence  of 
a  Roman  Catliolic  priest— His  duel  witli  Mr.  St.  Leger— Receives  the  dying  benedichou 
of  the  priest — Lord  Avonniore's  frlendsliip — His  cliaracter  of  Lord  Avonraore — M:nl;s 
of  St.  Patricls,  and  list  of  the  original  members — Anecdotes  of  Li^rl  Avonniore— Mr. 
Curran's  entrance  into  Parliament. 

Mr.  Curran  lias  been  frequently  alluded  1-./  as  one  of  the  many 
examples  in  tlie  history  of  the  bar,  of  the.  liighest  talents  reinaiu- 
ino-  for  a  lono-  time  unknown  and  unrewfirded.  This,  however, 
was  not  the  fact :  so  general  was  the  repiilatioii  of  his  abilities, 
and  so  numerous  his  })ersonal  friends,  th;i'  he  became  emploj'ed 
i.iiimediately,  and  to  an  extent  that  is  \ ',;.-;,  unusual  with  those, 
who,  like  him,  have  solely  depended  upon  v..ch'  own  exertions  and 
upon  a(M'i<leiital  supjiort.* 

'J'lie  failure  of  Mr.  Cuiiau's  first  attem])t  at  .speaking  has  been 
nie^Honed  :  a  more  singular  instance  of  that  nejvousness  which 
"  frequently  accompanies  the  higliest  capacity,  ";-.curred  to  him 
upon  ills  debut  in  lln_'  coui'ts.  The  first  brief  that  he  held  was  in'' 
the  Court  of  Cliancciy  ;  he  had  ov\y  lo  n-ad  a  short  seiilence 
from  his  m'^irii-lioiis,  but  he  did  it  so  precipitat<-ly  and  inaudihly, 
that  the  chancellor,  Lord  Lifi^iord.  requested  of  him  to  repeat  tiio 
words,  and  to  raise  his  voice  :  upon  this  his  agitation  became  so 
extreme  that  he  was  unable  to  artituilate  a  syllable ;  the  brief 
drop2')ed  from  h'ts  JkiikI.s,  and  a  iViend  who  sat  be.side  liim  was 
obliged  to  take  it  up  and  le.ni  tin'  neces.sary  passage.f 

*  The  fact  of  his  early  practice  a]ipear3  from  his  own  fee-l)ool<,  in  which  the  receipts 
commence  from  tlie  day  after  he  was  called  to  the  bar.  The  first  year  produced  eiglity- 
two  guineas,  the  second  between  one  and  two  hundred,'  and  so  on,  in  a  regularly  ncreas- 
ing  proportion. — C. 

t  Lord  Erskine,  on  his  debut  :it  the  English  bar,  is  said  to  have  been  equally  nervous, 


70  LIFE   OF  OUKRAN. 

This  diflSdence,  however,  totally  vanished  vphenever  he  had  to 
repel  what  he  conceived  an  unwarrantable  attack.  It  was  by 
o-iving  proofs  of  the  proud  and  indignant  spirit  with  which  he 
could  chastise  aggression,  that  he  first  distinguished  himself  at  the 
bar :  *  of  this  his  contest  with  Judge  Robinson  is  recorded  as  a 
very  early  and  memorable  instance.  Mr.  Curran  having  observed 
in  some  case  before  that  judge,  "That  he  had  never  met  the  law 
as  laid  down  by  his  lordship,  in  any  book  in  his  library,"  "  That 
may  be,  sir,"  «aid  the  judge,  in  an  acrid,  contemptuous  tone; 
"but  I  suspect  that  i/our  library  is  very  small."  His  lordship, 
who,  like  too  many  of  that  time,  was  a  party  zealot,  was  known  to 
be  the  author  of  sev-jial  anonymous  political  pamphlets,  which 
were  chiefly  couspicU"Us  for  their  despotic  principles  and  exces- 
sive violence.  The  young  barrister,  roused  by  the  sneer  at  his 
circumstances,  replied  that  true  it  was  that  his  library  miglit  be 
small,  but  he  thank?''  lieaven  that,  among  his  books,  there  were 
none  of  the  wretched  ,  loductions  of  the  frantic  pamphleteers  of 
the  day.  "I  find  it  more  instructive,  my  lord,  to  study  good 
works  than  to  compose  bad  ones ;  my  books  may  be  few,  but  the 
title-pages  give  me  the  writers'  names  :  my  shelf  is  not  uisgrace<l 
by  any  of  such  rank  absurdity  that  their  very  autliors  nro 
ashamed  to  owi  them." 

He  was  here  interrupted  ly  the  judge,  who  said,  "Sii-,  you  aie 
forgetting  the  respect  which  yiju  owe  to  the  dignity  of  the  judi- 
cial character."  "Dignity!"  ext 'aimed  Mr.  Currau  ;  "  my  lord, 
upon  that  point  I  shall  cite  you  a  case  from  a  book  of  some 
authority,  with  which  you  are  p'-rhaps  not  unacipiainted.     A  poor 


until  (t-o  use  his  own  words)  "  I  tliouglit  I  felt  my  Iningry  little  ones  pulling  my  gown, 
and  that  gave  me  courage  to  speak." — M. 

*  His  first  occasion  of  displaying  that  high  spirit  wljich  was  afterwards  so  prominent 
in  his  character,  was  at  the  election  of  Tallagh,  where  he  was  engaged  as  counsel,  a  few 
aionths  after  his  admission  to  the  bar.  One  of  the  candidates,  presuming  upon  his  own 
rank,  and  upon  the  young  advocate's  unostentatious  appearance,  indulged  in  some  rude 
lauguage  towards  him  ;  but  was  instantly  silenced  i)y  a  hurst  of  impetuous  and  eloquent 
invectiV3,  which  it  at  that  time  required  an  insult  to  a-waken  — C. 


THE   EETOET.  Yl 

Scotchman,*  upon  Lis  arrival  iu  London,  thinking  himself  insulted 
by  a  stranger,  and  imagining  that  he  was  the  stronger  man^ 
resolved  to  resent  the  afi'ront,  and  taldjig  off  his  coat,  delivered  it 
to  a  bystander  to  hold ;  but  having  lost  the  battle,  he  turned  to 
resume  his  garment,  when  he  discovered  that  he  had  uutbi-- 
tunately  lost  that  also,  that  the  trustee  of  his  habiliments  had 
decamped  during  the  aflVa3^  So,  my  lord,  when  the  person  who 
is  invested  with  the  dignity  of  the  judgment-seat  lays  it  aside,  for 
a  moment,  to  enter  into  a  disgi'aceful  personal  contest,  it  is  vain, 
when  he  has  been  worsted  in  the  encoimter,  that  he  seeks  to 
resume  it — it  is  in  vain  that  he  endeavours  to  shelter  himself  from 
behind  an  authority  which  he  has  abandoned." 

Judge  Robinson — If  you  say  another  word,  sir,  I'll  commit  you. 

Mr.  Curran — Then,  my  lord,  it  will  be  the  best  thing  you'll  have 
committed  this  term. 

The  judge  did  not  connnit  him  ;  but  he  was  understood  to  ha\e 
solicite<l  the  bench  to  interfere,  and  make  an  example  of  the  advu- 
caie  by  depriving  him  of  his  gown,  and  to  have  received  so  little 
chcouragement,  that  he  thought  it  most  prudent  to  proceed  no 
r\u'ther  in  the  att'air.f 

From  this,  and  many  other  specimens  of  spirit  and  fibilitj,  Mr. 
Curran's  reputation  rapidly  increased ;  but  it  was  not  till  he  had 
been  four  or  five  years  at  the  bar  that  his  powers  as  an  advocate 
became  fully  known.  Uis  first  opportunity  of  displaying  them 
was  in  a  cf.ur,e  at  the  Cork  Assizes,  in  which  a  Romau  Catholic 
priest,  the  Rev,  Mr.  Neale,  brought  an  action  ji^aini-.i,  a  nobleman 
of  that  eountv  (Lord  Duneraile),  for  an  aisiuilt  and  battery. 

*  Perhaps  it  U  uniip'-i-??aiy  to  remiiid  most  readers,  that  the  Scotchman  alludeil  to  is 
Strap,  in  Siiiol!.»'s  !{•:.  luric  Kamioin.— C.  [Mr.  O'Ke^an  r.ilates  tliis  reply  to  .IiulRe 
Rol)inson  as  having  !  ■  .-n  made,  not  by  Curran,  i.ut  by  Mr.  li/iare,  his  friend  and 
cotemporary. — M.] 

+  As  a  companion  to  this  anecdote,  let  me  mention  that,  jnce  upon  a  time,  when  a 
gigantic  and  ignorant  barrister  who  had  been  wounded  by  some  of  the  shafts  of '^irran'? 
■wit,  half  seriously  threatened  to  put  liiui  in  his  pocket — Curran  being  of  stunteJ  st^itare 
and  size— the  quick  retort  was,  "  Do  !  and  then  you'll  have  move  law  In  your  poctial  iban 
J  on  ever  had  in  youi  head  I" — M. 


72  LITE   OF   CUKRAN. 

The  circumstances  attending  this  case  mark  the  melancholy 
condition  of  the  times.  They  afford  a  single,  but  a  very  striking 
example  of  those  scenes  of  local  despotism  and  individual  suffer- 
ing, of  which,  at  this  degraded  period,  Ireland  was  daily  the  wit- 
ness and  the  victim. 

The  nobleman  in  question  had  contracted  an  intimacy  with  a 
young  woman,  whose  family  resided  in  the  parish  of  which  tlie 
plaintiflf  in  this  action  was  the  priest.  This  woman's  brother  hav- 
ing committed  some  offence  against  religion,  for  which  the  Roman 
Catholic  Bishop  of  the  diocese  had  directed  that  the  censure.?  of 
the  church  should  be  passed  upon  him,  she  solicited  Lord  Done- 
raile  to  interfere,  and  to  exert  his  influence  and  authority  for  the 
remission  of  the  offender's  sentence.  His  lordship,  without  hesi- 
tation, undertook  to  interpose  his  authority..  For  this  purpose  he 
proceeded,  accompanied  by  one  of  his  relatives,  to  the  house,  or 
rather  cabin,  of  the  priest.  As  soon  as  he  arrived  there,  disdain- 
ing to  dismount  from  his  horse,  he  called  in  a  loud  and  imperious 
tone,  upon  the  inhabitant  to  come  forth.  The  latter  happened  ;i( 
that  moment  to  be  in  the  act  of  prayer ;  but,  hearing  tlie  voice, 
which  it  would  have  been  perilous  to  disregard,  he  disi-ontinued 
his  devotions  to  attend  upon  the  peer.  Tlie  minister  of  religion 
apjx^ared  befoi-e  him  (an  affecting  spectacle,  to  a  feeling  mind,  of 
infirmity  and  humility),  bending  under  years,  his  head  uncovered, 
and  holdino-  in  his  hand  the  liook  which  was  now  his  onlv  source 
of  hope  and  consolation  His  lordshii)  oidered  him  to  take  otf 
the  sentence  lately  passed  upon  his  favourite's  brother.  The  priesr, 
struggling  between  his  temporal  fears  and  the  solemn  obligations 
f>f  ]m  church,  could  only  r«^ply,  with  respect  and  humbleness,  that 
he  would  gladl)  cotujily  with  any  injunction  of  his  lordship,  but 
that  to  do  so  in  the  present  instance  was  beyond  his  power ;  that 
he  was  only  a  parish  priest,  and,  as  such,  had  no  authority  to  remit 
an  etx'lesiastical  penalty  imposed  by  his  superior;  that  the  Bishop 
alone  could  do  it.  To  a  second  and  more  angry  mandate,  a  simi- 
lar answer  was  returned,  upon   which   the  nobleman,  forgetting 


'"A.THER   NE ale's    CA.SE.  73 

wbat  he  owed  to  Ms  own  dignity,  the  pity  aud  forbearance  due 
to  age,  and  the  ceverence  due  to  religion,  raised  his  hand  againsl 
the  unofiending  old  man,  who  could  only  escape  tlie  blows  directed 
against  his  person  by  tottering  back  into  his  habitation,  and  secur- 
ing its  door  against  his  merciless  assailauL. 

For  this  disgraceful  outrage,  to  which  the  sufferer  was  exposed, 
because  he  would  not  violate  the  sanctity  of  his  own  ciiaracter, 
and  the  ordinances  of  his  church,  for  the  gratification  of  a  [>vofli- 
gate  woman,  who  chanced  t  ^  he  tl-e  mistress  of  a  peer,  he  for  some 
time  despaired  of  obtaining  I'edress.  So  great  was  the  provincial 
power  of  this  nobleman,  and  such  the  political  degradation  of  the 
Roman  Catholic  clergy,  that  the  injured  priest  found  a  dithculty  in 
[irocuriug  an  advocate  to  plead  his  cause.  At  length,  several  to 
whom  he  applied  having  (according  to  the  general  report)  declined 
to  be  concerned  for  so  unpoi>uhir  a  client,*  Mr.  Curran  justly  con- 
ceiving that  it  would  be  a  stain  uiion  liis  iirofession  if  such  scenes 
of  lawless  violence  were  allowed  to  pass  without  investigation,  took 
a  step  wliicb  many  considered  as  most  romantic  and  imprudent, 
and  only  calculated  to  baffle  all  liis  prospects  upon  his  circuit;  he 
tendered  his  services  to  the  unfriended  plaintiff,  and,  the  unexpected 
offer  being  gi-atefully  accepted,  laid  the  story  of  his  unmerited 
wi'ongs  before  a  jury  of  his  country. 

No  printed  report  of  this  trial  has  been  preserved,  but  all  the 
accounts  of  it  agree  thai  the  plaintiff's  counsel  acquitted  bin. self 
Avith  eniiiiciil  abililv.  And  it  is  onlv  by  adverting  to  the  state  of 
those  times  that  we  can  appreciate  the  ability  that  could  obtain 
success.  Tiiis  was  not,  ms  an  ordinary  case,  between  man  and 
/nan,  where  each  may  be  certain  of  an  e(piitable  hearing.  The 
advocate  had  to  address  a  class  of  men  wlio  were  full  of  furious 

♦In  1735,  a  Catliolic  nobloniau  (Lord  Claiuarty)  Ijroiiglit  ■an  ejectment  to  recover  Ms 
faniily  estates  that  had  been  contiscatcci,  but  by  a  resolution  of  the  Irish  House  of  Com- 
mons, all  barristers,  solicitors,  attorneys  or  proctors,  that  should  be  concerned  for  him, 
Wf.re  voted  i>ublic  enemies  {O'Connor's  UMori/ of  the  Irish  CathoUiis,  p.  21S  :)  and  in 
Irt'.au:!  the  prejudices,  wliicli  liad  dictated  ec  iniquitous  a  measure,  were  not  extinct  in 

nso.— C. 


74  LIFE   OF   CURKAN. 

and  inveterate  prejudices  against  his  client.  The  very  aj>pearance 
of  a  Roman  Catholic  clergyman,  obtruding  his  wrongs  upon  a 
court  of  justice,  was  regarded  as  a  presumptuous  novelty.  To  the 
minds  of  the  bigoted  jurors  of  that  day,  his  demand  of  redress 
was  an  act  of  rebellion  against  the  Protestant  ascendency — a 
daring  eflbrt  to  restore  a  deposed  religion  to  its  throne.  The 
cause  had  also,  from  the  characters  of  the  parties,  excited 
the  greatest  public  interest,  and  the  sympathy  of  the  public, 
as  is  always  the  case  when  no  o^■idemic  passions  intervene, 
was  upon  the  side  of  the  oppres^^d ;  but  the  general  expres- 
sion of  such  a  feeling  was  rather  detrimental  to  its  object.  The 
ci'owds  that  filled  and  surrounded  the  court,  upon  the  day  of  trial, 
were  Roman  Catholics,  and  were  supposed,  by  a  veiy  obvious 
construction,  to  have  assembled,  not  so  much  to  mtness  a  triumph 
of  justice,  as  to  share  in  a  triumph  of  their  religion.  Upon  such 
an  occasion,  the  advocate  had  noUmerely  to  state  the  fact  and 
apply  the  law;  before  he  could  convince  or  persuade,  he  had 
to  pacify — to  allure  his  hearers  into  n  i)Mtient  attention,  and 
into  a  reversal  of  the  hostile  verdict,  which,  before  they  were 
sworn,  they  had  lacifly  pronounced.  These  were  the  difficul- 
ties against  wIulH  Mr.  '.'urran  had  to  contend,  and  which  lie 
overcame.  The  jury  granted  a  verdict  to  his  client,  with  thirty 
guineas  damages.  So  small  a  sum  would  now  be  deemed  a 
voiy  paltry  remuneration  for  such  an  injury;  but  in  Ireland, 
about  seventy  years  ago,  to  have  wrung  even  so  much  from  a 
I'rotestant  jury,  in  ftivour  of  a  Catholic  priest,  against  a 
Protestant  nobleman,  was  held  to  be  such  a  ti'iumph  of  forensic 
eloquence,  and  to  jbe  in  itself  so  extraordinary  a  circumstance, 
tliat  the  verdict  was  received  by  the  people  at  large  as  an  impor- 
tant political  event. 

In  a  part  of  his  address  to  the  jury  in  this  case,  the  plain- 
tilfs  counsel  animadverted,  with  the  utmost  severity  of  invective, 
upon  the  unworthy  conduct  of  the  defendant's  relative  (Mr.  St, 
Leger).  who  had   been  present,  and  countenancing  the   outrage 


MK.    ST.    LEGEK.  75 

upon  tbe  priest.*  At  length,  bis  zeal  and  indignation  hurrying 
him  beyond  his  instructions,  be  proceeded  to  describe  that 
gentleman  (who. had  lately  left  a  regiment  that  had  been  ordered 
on  actual  ser\ice),  as  "  a  renegado  soldier,  a  drummed-out 
dragoon,  who  wanted  tbe  courage  to  meet  the  enemies  of  bis 
country  in  battle,  but  bad  the  heroism  to  redeem  the  ignominy  of 
his  flight  from  1 1  anger,  by  raising  his  anu  against  an  aged 
and  unoft'en'Jing  minister  of  religion,  who  bad  just  risen  from 
putting  up  before  the  ibronc  of  God  a  prayer  of  general  interces- 
sion, in  wliich  his  heartless  insulter  was  included. 

As  soon  as  the  trial  was  o\'er,  be  was  summoned  to  make 
a  public  apology  for  those  expressions,  or  to  meet  Mr.  St.  Leger 
in  the  field.  Tie  was  fiuiy  sensible  that  bis  language  bad 
not  been  strictly  warrantable,  and  that  a  barrister  bad  no  right  to 
take  shelter  under  his  gown  from  tbe  resentment  of  those  whose 
feelings  and  character  be  migbt  have  unjustifiably  attacked;  but 
perceiving  that  an  apology  would,  in  tbe  eyes  of  bis  countrymen, 
have  tarnished  the  lustre  of  bis  recent  victory,  and  that  it  might 
have  the  efi'ect  of  invitino-  future  cballeno-es  whenever  lie  should 
perfoi-m  his  duty  with  the  necessary  boldness,  he  deemed  it 
more   eligible   to   risk   bis   life   than   bis  re})utation.f      A   duel 


*  Tlieie  was  another  circumstance  during  this  trial  which  had  ^ven  equal  offence,  aud 
wliich,  whatever  jiiil(,'imiit  may  bn  passed  upon  it  now,  was  well  i;alculated  to  influence 
the  jury.  Mr.  Curran  knew  that  Mr.  ?t.  Legur  was  to  he  produced  as  one  of  the  defen- 
dant's witnesses,  and  it  was  in  order  todiminisli  the  weiglit  of  his  testimony,  that  he  had 
described  iiim  as  above,  lie  had,  however,  mentioned  no  name,  but  merely  apprised  the 
jury  that  such  a  cliaractcr  might  be  brouglit  to  im|)Ose  upon  them.  When  Mr.  St.  Leger 
:ame  upi;.  the  tal>le,  and  took  the  Testament  in  his  hand,  the  plaintill''s  counsel,  in  a  tone 
of  aflectod  resi)ect,  addressed  Iiim  saying,  "  Oh,  Mr.  St.  Leger,  the  jury  will,  1  am  sure, 
believe  you  witliout  tie  ceremony  of  swearing  you  ;  you  are  a  man  of  honour,  and  of 
high  moral  piir-'iple;  your  character  will  Justify  us  from  insisting  on  your  oath."  The 
witness,  deceived  *>y  this  mild  and  coni|ilnnentary  language,  replied  with  mingled  sur- 
prise and  irritation,  "  I  uii  'lappy,  sir,  to  see  you  have  changed  the  opinion  you  enter- 
tained of  me  wlien  you  were  describing  me  awhile  ago."  "  Wliat,  sir  1  then  you  confess 
il,  was  a  description  of  yourself!  Gentlemen,  act  as  you  please,  but  1  leave  it  to  you  to 
8i/  whether  a  thousand  oaths  could  bind  the  conscience  of  such  a  man  as  I  have  just 
deocjibcd." 

t  When  each  had  taken  his  cround,  Mr.  St.  Leger  called  out  to  his  adversary  to  fire. 


76  LIFE   OF   CUEBAJS". 

accordingly  followoil  ;  ujjun  which  occasion  Mr.  Curran  not  only 
established  for  himself  a  character  for  personal  intrepidity  (an 
acquisition  of  no  small  moment  in  a  country  where  the  point  of 
honour  has  always  been  so  sacredly  observed),  but  afforded 
infinite  entertaiMiiicnt  to  the  bystanders,  by  a  series  of  those 
sportive  sallies,  which,  \\l)ei;  llie  iui]iuls<'  was  on  him,  no  time  or 
place  could  repress.  Pie  declined  retuniini;  Mr.  St.  Leger's  fire; 
so  that  the  atl'air,  aft<'r  a  singlf  shot,  was  terminated. 

A  more  solemn  and  interesting  scene  soon  followed.  The  poor 
priest  was  shortly  after  call"<i  away  to  ano'Jier  world.  When  he 
found  that  the  h<:>ur  of  dfiath  vas  at  hand,  he  earnestly  requested 
that  his  counsel,  to  whom  he  had  soni'  ihing  of  importance  to 
..•.oinmunicate,  might  be  brought  into  his  pi<isence.  Mr.  Curran 
complied,  and  was  cundueted  to  the  bed-side  i>t'his  expiring  client. 
The  humble  ser\ant  of  God  had  neither  gold  nor  silver  to  bestow; 
but  what  he  hm,  and  what  with  him  was  above  all  price,  he  gave — 
the  lilessing  of  a  dying  Christian  upon  him  who  had  emploj-ed  his 
talents,  and  risked  his  life,  in  redressino'  the  wronos  of  the  minister 
of  a  proscrilied  religion.  He  caused  himself  to  be  raised,  for  the 
last  time,  from  his  pillow,  and,  })lacing  his  hands  on  the  head  of 
his  young  advocate,  pronounced  over  him  tlie  formal  benediction 
of  the  Roman  Ca'i.olic  CJruoi.,  as  the  reward  of  his  eloquence 
and  intrepidity.  Mr.  Curran  had  also  the  satisfaction  .  of  being 
assured  by  the  lower  orders  of  his  countrymen,  that  he  might  noiv 
fight  as  many  duels  as  he  i)leased,  witiiout  apprehending  any  dan- 
ger to  his  person — an  assurance  which  subsequently  becanje  a 
prophecy,  as  far  as  the  event  could  i-ender  it  one. 

Shortly  after  thi.s  trial,  the  successful  orator  was  given  to  under- 
stand that  his  late  triumph  should  cost  him  dear.     As  he  was 


"  No,  sir,"  replied  he,  "I  am  here  by  your  invitation,  and  you  must  open  the  hall."  A 
little  after,  Mr.  Curran,  observing;  the  other's  pistol  to  be  aimed  wide  of  its  mark,  called 
out  in  a  loud  voice,  "  Fire  !"  St.  Leger,  who  was  a  nervods  man,  started,  and  fired  :  and 
having  died  not  long  after,  was  reputed  in  Munsterto  have  been  killed  by  the  report  c1 
his  own  pistol.— 0. 


HIS    rKACTlOE    IKOKEASES.  77 

standing  amidst  a  circle  of  liis  friends  in  one  of  the  pul^hc  streets 
of  Cork,  he  was  called  aside  by  a  person  who  brought  him  an 
intimation  from  Lord  Doneraile,  that  in  consequence  of  his  late 
unprecedented  conduct,  he  might  expect  never  to  be  employed  in 
future  in  any  cause  where  his  lordship,  or  his  extensive  connec- 
tions, should  have  the  power  to  exclude  hiu^  The  young  bar- 
rister answered,  with  contemptuous  playfulnc:;-,  and  in  a  voice  to 
be  overheard  by  every  one:  "My  good  sir,  you  may  tell  his 
lordship  that  it  is  vain  for  him  to  be  proposing  terms  of  accom- 
modation ;  for,  after  what  has  happened,  I  protest  I  think,  while  I 
live,  I  shall  never  hold  a  brief  for  him  or  one  of  his  family."  The 
introduction  of  these  particulars  may  almo^t  demand  an  apology ; 
yet  it  is  often  by  little  thirgs  that  the  characters  of  times  and 
individuals  are  best  displayed,  as  (according  to  an  eminent  English 
writer)  "  throwing  up  little  straws  best  shows  which  way  the  wind 
lies." 

Previous  to  this  trial,  Mr.  Ciirran's  fame  and  practice  had  been 
unusual  for  his  standing ;  but  after  his  display  of  eloquence  and 
conduct  ujjon  this  occasion,  they  increased  with  unprecedented 
rapidity.*  It  was  probably,  too,  with  this  e\ent  that  originated 
his  groat  populai'ity  among  the  lower  orders  of  the  Irish — a  feel- 
ing which  a  lintle  time  matured  into  an  aboimdeii  veneration  for 
his  capacity,  combined  with  a  most  devoted  attachment  to  his 
person.  Their  enthusiasm  in  this  instance  can  be  scarcely  con- 
ceived bv  such  as  have  on!v  witnessed  the  common  marks  of 

*  The  motto  to  the  first  carriage  he  set  up  on  the  strength  of  his  fees  was,  '•  Pea  vaeios 
Casus,"  on  which  some  person  observed  that  he  prudently  omitted  the  lat'.e'  part  o<  the 
sentence,  "p«r  iot  discrhnina  rerwn,"  wliich  gave  him,  he  said,  a  better  opiuioti  of  his 
judgment  than  he  was  otherwist;  inclined  to  entertain.  It  being  remarked  to  liim  thiit 
he  might  have  still  something  more  appropriate ;  ho  answered,  "  Why,  yes,  to  be  sure, 
'Ore  tenus,'  but  the  herald  pamter  dissuaded  me;  he  did  not  like  the  brevity  of  wit;  and 
being  then  engaged  aUc-.t  disjoverii/g,  amidst  the  bones  of  the  crusadirs,  armorial  bear- 
ings suitable  to  the  motto,  I  left  to  him  the  profit  of  two  syllables,  and  he  counted  out  the 
letters — a  course  since,  very  wisely,  I  assure  you,  adopted  in  Chancery  :  nay,  Trather 
think  also  by  the  common  law  courts;  and  thus  you  perceive,  my  friend,  from  what  small 
sources  great  ri?  ers  begin  to  flow.  God  knows  they  sometimes  lo  inundate  without  fer- 
tilieing;  bat  things  heing  so,  who  can  force  back  those  noxious  streams?" — M. 


78  LIFE   OF   CUKRAN. 

respect  paid  lo  ordinary  favourites  of  the  people.  So  mui'b  oi  his 
life,  and  so  many  of  its  proudest  moments  were  passed  in  their 
presence,  in  the  courts  of  ])ublin,  and  on  the  circuit  towns,  his 
manners  were  so  unaftectedly  familiar  and  accessible,  his  genius 
and  habits  were  so  purely  national,  that  the  humblest  of  his  coun- 
trymen, forgetting  the  difference  of  rank  in  their  many  commor 
sympalhies,  fondly  .onsidered  him  as  one  of  themselves^  and  cher- 
ished his  reputation  not  more  as  a  debt  of  gratitude  to  him  than 
as  a  kind  of  peculiar  triumph  of  their  own.  These  sentiments, 
which  he  never  descended  to  any  artifices  to  cultivate,  continued 
unimpaired  to  his  death,  and  will  probably  survive  him  many 
years. 

In  relating  the  steps  by  which  Mr.  Curran  advanced  to  profes- 
sional distinction,  it  would  be  an  injustice  to  omit  the  support 
which  he  found  in  the  friendship  of  tlie  late  learned  and  respected 
Lord  Avonmore,- then  Mr.  Yelverton,  a  leading  counsel  at  the  Irish 
bar.  This  excellent  and  rarely  gifted  man  had  himself  risen  from 
an  humble  station,  and  knowing,  by  experience,  "how  hard  it  is 
to  clii:nb,"  was  ever  most  prompt  iu  encouraging  and  assisting 
those  whom  he  saw  imitating  his  own  honorable  examjile.  His 
friendship  for  Mr.  Curran  commenced  in  1*775  (through  the  father- 
in-law  of  the  latter.  Dr.  Creagh,  between  whom  and  Mr.  Yelver- 
ton an  old  and  tender  intimacy  had  subsisted  ;)  and,  with  the 
exception  of  a  few  intervals  of  temporary  alienation  from  political 
dift'erences,  continued  unimpaired  to  his  death.* 

*  Mi-.  O'Regan  says,  "  Barry  Yelverton,  afterwards  Lord  Avonmore,  probably  possessed 
more  of  the  vehemence  of  masculine  intellect  than  most  others  of  his  countrymen.  Com- 
prehensive and  luminous,  of  a  copious  wit  and  extensive  erudition,  he  was  among  the 
order  of  talent  which  Mr.  Curran  was  to  succeed.  Lord  Ch'nmel  had  a  coarse  jocularity, 
irhich  was  received  as  an  useful  talent.  Mr.  Burgh  Lad  the  majesty  of  Virgil,  and 
Duquery  the  elegance  of  Addison.  Temple  Emmett  possessed  the  vigour  of  a  great  and 
original  mind;  he  was  certainly  a  person  of  singular  natural  and  acqui.ed  enaowments; 
a  man  who  read  Coke  on  Littleton  in  his  bed,  as  others  do  Tom  Jones  or  the  Persian 
Tales.  Of  the  chaste,  accomplished  and  classic  Duquery,  it  is  related  on  his  own  autho- 
rity, that  he  read  Robertson  on  the  day  before  his  best  displays,  to  catch  his  unrivalled 
style,  and  to  harmonize  his  composition  by  that  of  the  master  of  historic  eloquence.  He 
had  also  to  ^"otend  with  the  wit  of  Mr.  Keller,  and  the  unbending  stubbornness  of  Hoare. 


LORD   AVONMOKE. 


Id 


In  one  of  Mr.  Currau's  latest  eftbrts  at  tlie  bar,*  we  fiud  him 
fonclly  turning  aside  for  a  moment  to  indulge  his  respect  for  the 
judge  and  the  scholar,  and  his  gratitude  to  the  fi-iend  of  Ir' 
younger  years.  The  following  is  the  character  that  he  has  d';i.\>  n 
of  ]jOrd  Avonmore.  To  strangers  it  may  appear  overwrought,  hut 
those  who  were  familial-  with  the  simple  antique  gi  ludeur  of  mind 
thai  dignified  the  original,  recognise  the  fidelit}  of  the  likeness. 

''  I  am  not  ignorant  that  this  extraordinary  construction  has 
recei'.ed  the  sanction  of  another  court,  nor  of  the  :^urprise  and  dis- 
may with  which  it  smote  upon  the  general  he: .it  of  the  bar.  I 
am  aware  that  I  may  have  the  mortification  of  being  told  in 
another  country  of  that  unhappy  decision,  and  1  foresee  in  what 
confusion  I  shall  hang  down  my  head  when  I  am  told  it.  But  I 
cherish,  too,  the  consolatory  hope,  that  I  shall  be  able  to  tell  them, 
that  I  had  an  old  and  learned  friend,  whom  I  would  put  above  all 
the  sweepings  of  their  Hall,  who  was  of  a  dift'erent  opinion — wbo 
had  derived  his  ideas  of  civil  liberty  from  the  purest  fountains  of 
Athens  and  of  Rome — who  had  fed  the  youthful  vigour  of  his 
studious  mind  with  the  theoretic  knowledge  of  their  wisest  phi- 
losophers and  statesmen — and  who  had  refined  that  theory  into 
the  quick  and  exquisite  sensibility  of  moral  instinct,  by  contem- 
plating the  practice  of  their  most  illustrious  examples — by  dwell- 
ing on  the  sweet-souled  piety  of  Cimon — on  the  anticipated  Chris- 
tianity of  Socrates — on  the  gallant  and  pathetic  patriotism  of 
Epaminondas — on  that  pure  austerity  of  Fabricius,  whom  to  move 


John  Fitzgibbon,  afterwards  Lord  Clare,  and  Lord  High  Cliancellor  of  Ireland,  was  a  com- 
petitor whose  ardent  and  energetic  decision  of  character,  whose  precision  of  mind  and 
legal  capacity,  rendered  hiir.  a  formidable  rival.  They  did  not  uniformly  run  the  same 
course  of  competition;  Mr.  Curran  was  not  early  qualified  to  start  for  the  hunter's  plate, 
nor  had  he  ever  much  taste  for  the  Olympics  of  a  Castle  chase;  for  such,  he  said,  he  was 
short  by  the  head.  Yc:  Mr  Curran  often  repeated,  that  had  not  the  father  of  Mr.  Fitz- 
gibbon pre-occupitd  the  ground  for  his  son,  by  one  stage,  he  never  slioald  cr  could  have 
eon*  beyond  him.  But  whenever  these  high-niettled  racers  started  fairly,  and  on  anequai 
plam,  Mr.  Curran  was  always  first  at  the  winning-post." — M. 

♦  Speech  in  the  case  of  Mr.  Justice  Johnson,  In  the  Court  of  Escheqaer,  where  Lord 
Avonmore  presided.— C.     [The  date  was  February  4  1S05.]— M. 


80  LIFE  OF  OUERAN. 

from  his  inteoritv  would  liave  been  mor^  difficult  than  to-  have 
pushed  the  sun  from  his  course.  I  would  add,  that  if  he  had 
seemed  to  hesitate,  it  was  but  for  a  moment — tli.it  his  hesitation 
was  like  the  passing  cloud  tliat  floats  across  the  morning  sun,  and 
hides  it  from  the  view,  and  does  so  for  a  moment  hide  it,  by 
involvino-  the  f-poctator  without  even  approaching  the  face  of  the 
Tuininary." 

Lord  Avonmore  was  tlie  person  under  whose  auspices  wa§  form- 
ed, in  the  year  1779,  a  patriotic  and  convivial  society — "The 
Monks  of  the  Order  of  St.  Patrick,"*  which  was  in  those  days 

*  Of  this  society,  so  interesting  as  connected  with  tlie  most  splendid  era  of  Iidand's 
iiistory,  Mr.  Hudson  has  liindly  supplied  the  following  notice  and  list  of  the  original 
members : 

This  celebrated  s'l  uefy  was  partly  political  and  partly  convivial ;  it  con9*stcd  of  twc 
parts,  professed  and  mv  Vjrothers.  As  the  latter  had  no  privileges,  except  iliat  of  com- 
mons in  the  refectory,  thty  are  unnoticed  here.  The  professed  (by  the  constitution)  con- 
sisted of  meraoers  of  ';i  iier  house  of  parliament,  and  barristers,  wii.h  the  addition  from 
the  other  learned  pro'.t  ■sions  of  any  number  not  exceeding  one-third  of  tht-  wliole.  They 
assembled  every  Saturdnv  in  Convent,  during  term-time;  and  commonly  hell  a  chapter 
before  commons,  at  which  the  nbbot  presided,  or  in  his  (very  rare)  absence,  the  prior,  or 
ieuiur  of  the  offict  rs  present.  Upon  such  occasions,  all  the  members  appeared  in  the 
habit  of  the  order,  a  black  tabinet  domino.  Temperance  and  sobriety  always  prevailed. 
A  short  Latin  grace,  "  Jienedictus  benedicat,"  and  "  Benedicto  benedicatur"  (since 
adopted  as  the  grace  ol  the  King's  Inns  Society,  in  Dublin)  was  regularly  and  gravely 
pronounced  by  the  prseceiitor  or  chaplain,  before  and  after  commons. 

It  will  be  seen  by  the  following  list,  that  there  were  many  learned  men  and  men  of 
gmius  in  their  ViUmber,  and  I  may  venture  to  say,  that  few  productions  (either  in  pamph- 
If-.s  or  periodical  publications)  of  any  celebrity,  during  the  arduous  struggle  for  Irish 
emancipation,  appeared,  which  did  not  proceed  from  the  pen  of  one  of  '-he  brethren.  Nor 
did  they  forego  their  labours,  till,  by  their  prayers  and  exertions,  they  attained  emancipa- 
tion for  their  country.  The  sad  chauee  which  has  taken  place  since  their  dispersiop 
need  not  be  related. 

THE 

MONKS  OF  THE  ORDER  OF  ST.  PATRICK. 

COMMONLY    CALLED 

THE  MONKS  OF  THE  SCREVv'. 

At4«mbled  at  their  Convent  in  St.  uA.evin  Street,  L-idliK.,  on  ana  after 
Septembe)'  theSd,  1779. 

Jfemhers'  Niimes. 

1.  .yc<K'n</er.~Barry  Yelverton,  barrister,  M.P.,  since  Lord  "Viscount  Avccmore,  Lor-J 
Chief  Barcn. 

2.  Allot.— \i\\\\s,m  Doyle,  barrister,  Master  in  Chancery. 


MOKKS   OF  THE   SCKEW.  8l 

giilficiently  celebrated,  and  composed  of  men  sueli  as  Ireland  could 
not  easily  assemble  now.     It  was  a  collection   of  tbe  wit,  the 


3.  Prior. — John  Philpot  Curian,  barrister,  since  M.P.,  Privy  Counsellor  and  Master  of 
the  Rolls. 

4.  Pracentor.—KtiY.  Wm.  Day,  S.  P.  T.  C.  D. 

5.  Burmr. — Edvard  Hudson,  M.D.* 

6.  Sacristan. — Robert  JoVinson,  ban   M.P.,  and  since  a  Judge.* 

7.  Arran,  the  Earl  of. 

8.  Barry,  James  (painter),  elected  an  honorary  member,  never  joined. 

9.  Brown,  Arthur,  barr.  M.P.,  and  F.  T.  C.  D. 

10.  Burgh,  Walter  Hussey,  barr.,  Rt.  Hon.  an-l  M.P.,  and  since  Chief  Baroa. 

11.  Burston,  Beresford,  barr.,  and  K.  C* 

12.  Carhampton,  Earl  of. 

13.  Caldbeck,  William,  barr.,  and  K.  C. 

14.  Chamberlayne,  W.  Tankerville,  barr.  M.P.,  and  since  a  Judge. 

15.  Charlemont.  Earl  of. 

16.  Corry,  Rt.  Hon.  Isaac,  M.P.,  and  since  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer. 
\\.  Daly,  Rt.  Hon.  Denis,  M.P. 

18.  Day,  Robert,  barr.  M.P.,  and  since  a  Judge.* 

19.  Dodds,  Robert,  barr. 

20.  Doyle,  John,  M.P.,  and  since  a  General  in  the  army,  and  Bart.* 

21.  Dunkin,  James,  barr. 

22.  Duquery,  Henry,  barr.,  and  M.P. 

23.  Enimett,  Temple,  barr. 

24.  Finucane,  Matthew,  barr.,  and  since  a  Judge. 

25.  Fitton,  Richard,  barr. 

26.  Forbes,  John,  barr.,  M.P. 

27.  Frankland,  Richard,  barr.,  and  K.C. 

28.  Grattan,  Rt.  Hon.  Henry,  barr.,  and  M.P. 

29.  Hacket,  Thomas,  barr. 

80.  Hardy,  Francis,  barr.,  and  M.P.  (Lord  Charlemont's  biogriy)her.) 

81.  Harstcnge,  Sir  Henry,  Bart,  and  M.P. 

82.  Herbert,  Richard,  barr.,  and  M.P. 
88.  Hunt,  John,  barr. 

84.  Hussey,  Dudley,  barr.,  M.P.,  and  Recorder  of  Dublin. 

85.  Jebb,  Frederic,  M.D. 

86.  Kingsborough,  Lord  Viscount,  M.P.  [afterwards  Earl  of  KiPgstcn  ] 

87.  Mocawen, ,  barr. 

88.  Martin,  Richard,  burr.,  and  M.P. 

89.  Metge,  Peter,  barr.,  M.P.,  and  since  a  Judge. 

40.  Mornington,  Earl  of  [the  late  Marquis  Wellesley.] 

41.  Muloch,  Thomas,  barr. 

42.  Newenham,  Sir  Edward,  M.P. 

43.  Ogle,  Rt.  Hon.  George,  M.P. 

•  Surviving.— C.    lln  1819] — .M. 

4* 


82  LIFE    OF   CTIERAN. 

genius,  and  public  virtue  of  the  country;  and  though  the  name  of 
the  society  itself  is  not  embodied  in  any  of  the  national  records, 

44.  O'Leary,  Rev.  Arthur,  honorary. 

45.  O'Neal,  Charles,  barr.,  K.C.,  and  M.P. 

46.  Palliser,  the  Rev.  Doctor,  chaplain. 

47.  Pollock  Joseph,  barr. 

4S.  Ponsonby,  Rt.  Hon.  George,  barr.,  M.F.,  t.ml  since  Chancellor  of  Ireland. 

49.  Preston,  William,  barr. 

50.  Ross,  Lieut.  Col.  M.P. 

51.  Sheridan,  Charles  Francis,  barr.,  M.P.,  and  Secretary  at  War. 

52.  Sinitn,  Sir  Michael,  Bart,  barr.,  M.P.,  and  since  Master  of  the  Rolls. 

53.  Stawel,  William,  barr. 

54.  Stack,  Rev.  Richard,  K  T.C.T). 

55.  Townshend,  Marquis  of.* 

56.  Woolfe,  Arthur,  barr.,  M.P.,  and  since  Lord  Viscount  Kilwarden,  Chief  Justice  King's 
Bench. 

The  society  awindlcd  away  towards  the  end  of  the  yc-ar  1V95. 

Shortly  after  the  formation  of  this  club,  Mr.  Curran,  Living  been  one  evening  called 
upon  for  a  song,  gave  one  of  his  own  composition,  which  T'as  immediately  adopted  as  the 
5hailer  song  of  tho  order     The  following  are  all  the  verse^  of  it  that  have  been  recollected. 

IVhen  St.  Patrick  this  order  established, 

He  called  us  the  "Monks  of  ihe  Screw;" 
Good  rules  he  revealed  to  our  Abbot 

To  guide  us  in  what  we  should  do. 
But  first  he  ri-iilenished  our  fountain 

With  liouor,  the  best  in  the  sky; 
And  he  sworf ,  on  the  word  of  a  saint, 

That  the  fountain  should  never  run  dry. 

Each  year,  when  your  octaves  approach, 

In  full  chapter  convened  let  me  find  you ; 
And,  when  to  the  convent  you  come, 

Leave  your  favorite  temptation  behind  yon. 
And  be  not  a  glass  in  your  convent, 

Lnless  on  a  festival,  found  ; 
And,  this  rule  to  enforce,  I  ordain  it 

One  festival  all  the  year  r^und. 

My  brethren,  be  chaste,  till  you're  tempted; 

Whilst  sober,  be  grave  and  discreet ; 
And  humble  your  bodies  with  fasting, 

As  oft  as  you've  nothing  to  eat. 

•  JilecUd,  profeesed,  and  joined  on  hia  visit  to  Dublin,  after  hia  rico-royalty. 


LORD   AVONMORE.  83 

the  names  of  many  of  its  members  are  to  be  found  :n  every  page, 
and  will  be  remembered,  while  Ireland  has  a  memory,  with  grati- 
tude and  piide.  The  primary  object  of  their  association  was  to 
give  her  a  Constitution,  and  to  nourish  and  diffuse  among  her 
people  the  spirit  and  intelligence  which  should  render  them  worthy 
of  the  gift ;  and  when  the  day  arrived,  as  it  shortly  did,  when  the 
rights  to  which  they  aspired  were  not  to  be  gained  without  a 
struggle,  the  leading  members  of  the  "  Order  of  St.  Patrick"  may 
be  seen  conspicuous  in  the  post  of  honour  and  of  danger.  Mr. 
Curran  always  bore  a  distinguished  part  in  their  meetings ;  it  was 
to  them,  and  to  the  many  happy  and  instructive  hours  he  had 
passed  there,  that  he  so  pathetically  alluded  in  the  fin6  burst  of 
social  enthusiasm  which  immediately  follows  the  passage  above 
cited. .  "And  this  soothing  hope  I  draw  from  the  dearest  and  ten- 
derest  recollections  of  my  life — from  the  rememr-rsnce  of  those 
Attic  nights,  and  those  refections  of  the  gods,  which  we  have  spent 
with  those  admired,  and  respected,  and  beloved  companions,  who 
have  gone  before  us ;  over  whose  ashes  the  most  precious  tears  of 
Ireland  have  been  shed.  [Here  Lord  Avonmore  could  not  refrain 
from  bursting  into  tears.]  Yes,  my  good  Lord,  I  see  you  do  not 
forget  them.  I  see  their  sacred  forms  passing  in  sad  review  before 
your  memory.  I  see  your  pained  and  softened  fancy  recalling 
those  happy  meetings,  where  the  innocent  enjoyment  of  social 

Yet,  in  honour  of  fasting,  one  lean  face 

Among  you  I'll  always  require; 
If  the  Abbot  should  please,  he  may  wear  it, 

If  not,  let  it  come  to  the  Prior.* 

Come,  let  each  take  his  chalice,  my  brethren. 

And  with  due  devotion  prepare, 
With  hands  and  with  voices  uplifted 

Our  hymn  to  conclude  with  a  prayer. 
May  this  chapter  oft  joyously  meet. 

And  this  gladsome  libation  renew. 
To  the  Saint,  and  the  Founder,  and  Abbot, 

And  Prior,  and  Monies  of  the  Screw! 

•  Mr.  Doylo,  th*  Abbot,  had  n  remnrknhly  large  'till  fnce ;  Mr.  Curran's  WM  tfaa  wry  ranTM. 


84  LIFE   OF   CURB  AN. 

mirth  became  expanded  into  tlie  nobler  warmth  of  social  viitua. 
and  the  horizon  of  the  board  became  enlarged  into  the  horizon  :>f 
man — where  the  swelling  heart  conceived  and  communicated  toe 
pure  and  generous  purpose — wliere  my  slenderer  and  youngei 
taper  imbibed  its  borrowed  light  from  the  more  matured  and 
redundant  fountain  of  yours.  Yes,  my  Lord,  we  can  remember 
those  flights  without  any  other  regret  than  that  they  can  never 
•QOTO  return,  for 

"  We  spent  them  not  in  toys,  or  lusts,  or  wine, 
But  search  of  deep  philosophy, 
Wit,  eloquence,  and  poesy, 
Arts  which  I  loved,  for  they,  my  friend,  were  thine."* 

COWLET. 

Lord  Avonmore  was  one  of  those  men  in  whom  a  rare 
intellect  and  vast  acquirements  are  iGund  united  with  tlie  most 
artless  unsuspecting  innocency  Oi  natiu-e.  "V^-liatever  the  person 
in  Avi.om  he  confiuitd  asserted,  he  considered  to  be  as  undoubted 
as  if  he  had  uttered  it  himself.  His  younger  friend,  aware  of  this 
amiable  imperfection,  used  often  to  trifle  with  it,  and.  in  moments 
of  playful  relaxation,  t^-  practice  harmless  impositions  upon  his 
loidship's  credulity.  His  ordinary  artifice  w^as  to  touch  his  sensi- 
bilily'i  and  thus  excite  his  attention  by  relating  in  his  presence 
some  aftecting  incident,  and,  then  pretending  to  be  unconscious 
that  his  lordship  was  listening,  to  proceed  with  a  detail  of  many 
strange  and  improbable  jjarticulars,  until  he  should  be  inter- 
rupted, as  he  regularly  was,  by  the  good  judge's  exclaiming, 
"Gracious  heavetis!  sir,  is  it  posssible?  I  have  overheard  all  those 
most  trul}'-  amazirig  circumstances,  which   I   could   never  have 

*  Lore.  Avocmo'o,  in  «hose  breast  political  resentment  was  easily  subdued,  by  the 
same  noble  tenderne.ts  of  feelinft  which  distinguished  the  late  Mr.  Pox  upon  a  more  cele- 
bi'ated  o.icasiun,  could  u^.'l  ,7il!isiar,.  i  this  appeal  to  his  heart.  Atlliis  period  (1805)  there 
•sras  a  susptrsion  of  inlercomse  between  him  and  Mr.  Ourran  ;  but  the  moment  the  court 
rose,  hia  Lordship  sent  foi  his  friend,  and  threw  himself  into  his  arms,  declaring  that 
unv/oi-ihy  artifices  bad  been  used  t'  separate  them,  and  that  they  should  never  succeed  In 
future.—  0. 


FOND    OF   ANTICIPATING.  85 

believed,  if  they  did  not  come  from  such  good  authority."  His 
lordship  at  length  discovered  the  deception,  and  passing  into  the 
opposite  extreme,  becanifi  (often  ludicrously)  wary  and  incredu- 
lous as  to  every  thing  that  Mr.  Curran  stated.  Still,  however,  the 
latter  persisted,  and,  quickening  his  invention  as  the  difficulties 
increased,  continued  from  year  to  year  to  gain  many  a  humour 
ous  triumph  over  all  the  defensive  caution  of  his  friend.  Even 
upon  the  bench,  Lord  Avonmore  evinced  the  same  superstitious 
apprehensiou  of  the  advocate's  ingenuity,  whom  he  would  fre- 
quently interrupt,  sometimes  in  a  tone  of  endearment,  sometimes 
of  impatience,  saying,  "Mr.  Curran,  I  know  your  cleverness  ;  but 
it's  quite  in  vain  for  you  to  go  on.  T  see  th.-  drift  of  it  all,  and 
vou  are  onlv  o-ivino-  vourself  and  me  unnecessarv  trouble."  Upon 
one  of  these  occasions,  the  judge  having  frequently  interposed  to 
prevent  the  counsel's  putting  forward  some  topic  that  was  really 
relative  and  necessary  to  his  case,  declaring,  a-,  often  as  it  was 
attempted,  tiiat  the  tendency  of  his  argument  was  qaite  obvious, 
and  that  he  was  totally  straying  from  the  question,  Mr.  Currau 
addressed  him  thus  :  "  Perhaps,  my  lord,  I  am  straying ;  but  you 
must  impute  it  to  the  extreme  agitation  of  my  mind.  I  have  just 
witnessed  so  dreadful  a  circumstance,  that  my  imagination  has 
not  yet  recovered  from  the  shock."  His  lordship  was  now  all 
attention.  "  On  my  way  to  court,  my  lord,  as  I  passed  by  one  of 
the  markets,  I  observed  a  butcher  proceeding  to  slaughter  a  calf. 
Just  as  his  hand  was  raised,  a  lovely  little  child  approached  him 
unperceived,  and,  terrible  to  relate — I  still  see  the  life-blood 
gushing  ou    the  poor  child's  bosom  was  under  his  hand,  when  he 

plunged  his  knife  into — into  " "  Into  the  bosom  of  the  child !" 

cried  out    he  judge,  with  much  emotion — "into  the  neck  of  the 
calf,  my  lord ;  but  your  lordship  sometimes  anticipates."* 

There  are  no  reports  of  Mr.  Curran's  early  speeches  at  the  bar ; 
but  the  celerity  of  his  ascent  to  distinction  in  his  profession,  and 
in  the  public   estimation,  may  be  inferred  from  the  date  of  his 

♦  Phillips  a'so  tells  this  story,  but  has  worked  it  up  too  dramatically. — M, 


86  LTFiS,    OF   CUKEAN. 

entrance  into  Parliament.  He  had  been  only  seven  years  at  tlie 
bar,  when  Mr.  Longfield  (afterwards  Lord  Longueville)  had  him 
i-eturned  for  a  borough  in  his  disposal.*  At  this  time  boroughs 
were  the  subject  of  notorious  traffic,  and  it  seldom  happened  that 
the  members  returned  for  them  did  not  bind  themselves  to  reii.a- 
nerate  the  patrons  in  money  or  in  services.  There  was  no  such 
stipulation  in  the  present  instance ;  the  seat  was  given  to  Mr. 
Curran  upon  the  express  condition  of  perfect  freedom  on  his  part; 
but  havang  soon  differed  from  Mr.  Longfield  on  political  subjects, 
and  there  being  then  no  way  of  vacating,  he  insisted  upon  pur- 
chasing a  seat,  to  be  fi]le<l  bv  any  person  whom  that  gentleman 
might  appoint;  an  a>i;iiigeuieut.  against  which,  it  is  but  justice 
to  add,  that  Mr.  Lono-fiold  anxiouslv  endeavoured  to  dissuade 
him.f 

*  The  borough  of  Kilbeggan,  for  which  the  other  membftr  ■was  the  celebrated  Mr.  Flood. 
It  was  also  about  this  period  that  Mr.  Curran  obtained  a  silk  gown. — 0. 

t  In  the  succeeding  parliament  Mr.  Curran  also  came  in,  at  his  own  expense,  for  th» 
bore  ugh  of  Rathcormack. — C. 


THB  miSH  HOUSE  OF  COMMONS  m   1783.  87 


CHAPTER  V. 


Tde  Irish  House  of  Commons,  in  1T83 — Sketch  of  the  previous  history  of  Ireland — Effects 
of  the  revolution  ofl68S — Catholic  penal  code — System  of  governing  Ireland — Described 

'  by  Mr.  Curran — Intolerance  and  degradation  of  the  Irish  parliament — Change  of  sys- 
tem— Octennial  bill — American  Revolution — Its  effects  upon  Ireland — The  Irish  volun- 
teers— Described  by  Mr.  Curran^Their  numbers,  and  influence  upon  public  measures 
— Iiish  revolution  of  1782 — Mr.  Grattan's  public  services — Observations  upon  the  sub- 
sequent conduct  of  the  Irish  Parliament. 

It  was  at  the  eventful  era  of  1*783  that  Mr.  Curran  became  a 
member  of  the  Irish  House  of  Commons* — an  assembly  at  that 
day  thronged  with  groups  of  original  historic  characters,!  the 

*  The  manner  in  which  Curran  got  a  seat  in  Parliament  has  been  thus  related,  as"  n-oll 
authenticated  :"  Lorl  LoLgueville,  an  Irish  peer,  with  vast  property,  and  large  borough- 
interest,  wishing  to  avail  himself  of  Curran's  talents,  offered  him  a  seat  in  Parliament 
Curran  replied  that  his  politics  were  opposed  to  the  party  to  which  Lord  L.  belonged.  He 
was  reminded,  with  a  laugh,  that  patriotism  was  unprofitable,  and  that,  with  a  young 
family,  his  j^ood  sense  would  tell  him  so.  Some  time  after,  one  of  Curran's  friends  asked 
him  for  a  frank,  and  informed  him  that  he  was  gazetted  as  member  for  one  of  Lord 
LongueviUe's  boroughs.  lie  took  his  seat,  and  voted  against  Lord  L.'s  friend,  the  minister. 
In  explanation,  he  said  that  he  entered  Parliament  independent  and  unshackled,  and  that 
so  he  would  remain.  At  that  time,  he  had  saved  only  five  r.undred  pounds.  This  money, 
And  about  twice  as  much  more,  which  he  borrowed  frou;  his  friends,  he  sent  to  Lord 
Longueville,  in  payment  for  his  seat.— M. 

t  Of  some  of  these,  Mr.  Grattan  (in  his  answer  to  Lord  Clare's  pamphlet,  1801)  has 
given  the  following  masttrly  sketches,  over  which  he  has,  perhaps,  Ui,  -onsciously  distri- 
buted the  noble  traits  which,  if  collected,  would  form  the  portrait  of  himself. 

"  I  follow  the  author  through  the  graves  of  these  honourable  dead  men,  for  most  of 
them  are  so,  and  I  beg  to  raise  up  their  tombstones  as  he  throws  them  down;  I  feel  it 
more  instructive  to  converse  with  their  ashes  than  with  his  compositions. 

"  Mr.  Malone,  one  of  the  characters  of  1753,  was  a  man  of  the  finest  intellect  that  any 
country  ever  produced.  'The  three  ablest  men  I  ever  heard  were  Mr.  Pitt  (^the  father), 
Mr.  Murray,  and  Mr.  Malone.  For  a  popu.ar  assembly,  I  would  choose  Mr.  Pitt;  fcr  a 
privy  council,  Murray;  for  twelve  wite  men,  Malone.'  This  was  the  opinion  which  Lord 
Sackville,  the  secretary  of  1753,  gave  to  a  gentleman  from  whom  I  heard  it.  He  is  « 
great  sea  in  the  calm,'  said  Mr.  Gerrard  Hamilton,  another  great  judge  of  men  and 
talents  ;  '  Ay,'  it  was  replied,  '  but  ha  !  you  seen  him  when  he  was  young,  you  would  havo 


88  LIFE   OF    UUKKAN. 

vigorous  product  of  unsettled  times:   great  public  benefactors, 
g)-eat  public  delinquents,  but  both  of  rare  capacity  and  enterprise, 


said  he  was  a  great  sea  in  a  storm.'    And  lilce  tiie  sea,  whetlier  in  calm  or  storm,  he,  wan 
a  great  production  of  nature. 

"Lord  Pery. — He  is  not  yet  canonized  by  deatli ;  but  he,  lilce  the  rest,  has  been  canon- 
ized by  slander.  He  was  more  or  less  a  party  in  all  those  .neasures  which  the  pamphlet 
condemns,  and  indeed  in  evjry  great  statute  and  measure  that  took  place  in  Ireland  for 
the  last  fifty  years.  A  man  of  the  most  legislative  capacity  I  ever  knew,  and  the  mo.^t 
comprenensive  reach  of  unrtei standing  I  ever  saw;  with  a  deep-engraven  i-npressuin  oi 
public  care,  accompani'.-d  \jy  a  temper  which  was  adamant.  In  his  train  is  every  private 
virtue  that  can  adorn  human  nature. 

"  Jlr.  Brownlow— Sir  William  Osborne. — I  wish  we  had  more  of  these  criminals.  The 
■former  seconded  the  address  of  1782,  and  in  the  latter,  and  in  both,  there  was  a  station  of 
mind  that  would  have  become  the  proudest  senate  in  Europe. 

"  Mr.  Flood,  my  rival,  as  the  pamphlet  calls  him :  and  I  should  be  unworthy  the  charac- 
ter of  his  rival,  if  in  the  grave  I  did  not  do  him  justice. — He  had  his  fau;i^;  but  he  had 
great  powers,  great  public  effect ;  he  persuaded  the  old,  he  inspired  the  joung ;  the  Castle 
vanished  before  him.  On  a  small  subject,  he  was  miserable  :  put  into  his  hai  d  a  distaff, 
and,  like  Hercules,  he  made  sad  work  of  it:  but  give  him  the  thunderbolt,  and  he  had  the 
arm  of  a  Jupiter.  He  misjudged  when  he  transferred  himself  to  the  English  Parliament  ; 
he  forgot  that  he  was  a  tree  of  the  forest,  too  old  and  too  great  to  be  transplanted  at  fifty ; 
and  his  fate  in  the  British  Parliament  is  a  caution  to  the  friends  of  union  to  stay  at  home, 
and  make  the  country  of  their  birth  the  seat  of  their  action. 

"  Mr.  Daly,  my  beloved  friend. — He,  in  a  great  measure,  drew  the  address  of  1779,  in 
favour  of  our  trade,  that  'ungracious  measure  ;'  and  he  saw,  read,  atd  approved  of  the 
address  of  1782,  in  favour  of  our  constitution,  that 'address  of  separation.'  He  visited 
me  in  my  illness,  at  that  moment,  and  I  had  communication  on  those  subjer'?  with  that 
man  whose  powers  of  oratory  were  next  to  perfection,  and  whose  powers  of  understand- 
ing, I  might  say,  from  what  has  lately  happened,  bordered  on  the  spirit  of  prophe^.y. 

"  Mr.  Forbes — a  name  1  shall  ever  regard,  and  a  death  I  shall  ever  deplore. — Enlight- 
ened, sensible,  laborious,  and  useful ;  proud  in  poverty,  and  patriotic  ;  he  preferred  exile 
to  apostacy,  and  met  his  death.  I  speak  of  the  dead — I  say  nothing  of  the  living;  but 
that  I  attribute  to  this  constellation  of  great  men,  in  a  great  measure,  the  privileges  of 
your  countiy;  and  I  attribute  such  a  generation  of  men  to  the  residence  of  your  Parlia- 
ment. 

"  Mr.  Burgh  :  another  great  person  in  those  scenes  which  it  is  not  in  the  little  quill  ol 
this  author  to  depreciate. — He  was  a  man  singu'.iiriy  gifted,  with  great  talent,  great 
variety — wit,  oratory,  and  logic.  He,  too,  had  hi3  weakness;  but  he  had  the  pride  of 
genius,  a'so,  and  strove  to  raise  his  country  alorig  witli  himself,  and  never  sought  )o 
build  his  e;evation  on  the  degradation  of  Ireland.  I  moved  an  amendment  for  a  free 
export ;  he  moved  a  better  amendment,  and  he  lost  l.is  place.  T  moved  a  declaration  of 
rights:  'With  my  last  breath  will  I  support  tlie  right  of  the  Irish  Parliament,'  was  his 
note  to  me,  when  I  applied  to  him  for  his  support;  he  lost  the  chance  of  recovering  his 
place  and  his  way  to  tlie  seals,  for  which  he  might  '-.ave  bartered.  The  gates  of  promo- 
lion  were  shut  on  him,  as  those  of  glory  opened.''-  C. 

Walter  Hussey  Burgh,  thus  eulogized  by  Grattan,  merits  more  particular  notice.    Calle»l 


Ills    POLITICAL    FERVOf.  8^ 

and  exhibiting  in  theii*  virtues  or  tlieir  crimes  all  the  turbalent 
energy  of  the  st  )rins  that  were  agitating  their  country.  The  Irish 
revolulion  of  1782,  with  the  memorable  acts  and  deliberations  of 
which  period  the  political  history  of  Ireland  commences,  had  just 
taken  place ;  and,  although  it  preceded  by  a  little  time  Mr.  Cur- 
ran's  entrance  into  Parliament,  it  still  cannot  but  be  adverted  to 
as  an  event  which  bad  a  powerful  iniiuence  upon  the  fortune  and 
conduct  of  his  future  life.  He  was  of  too  ardent  a  temper  not  to 
be  deeply  moved  by  the  circumstances  which  accompanied  that 
measure  :  he  was  the  familiar  friend  of  the  eminent  Parliamentary 
leaders  who  had  been  so  instrumental  in  achievino-  it;  he  had 
witnessed  the  virtuous  struo-ales  and  the  scenes  of  civic  heroism 
displayed  by  them,  and  by  the  nation,  at  this  arduous  crisis ;  and 
the  impression  that  they  made  upon  his  imagination  and  his  con- 
viction was  never  after  effaced.  In  order,  therefore,  fully  to  com- 
prehend the  feelings  with  which  he  entered  upon  his  duties  as  an 
Irish  senator,  it  will  be  necessar}'  to  make  a  few  observations  upon 
the  condition  in  which  he  found  his  country,  and  upon  that  from 
which  she  had  recently  emerged.  The  fervour  of  his  political 
opinions,  and  his  devoted  adherence  to  the  popular  cause,  exposed 
him,  at  different  periods   of  his   life,   to   no   little   calumny  and 

to  the  Iiisli  bar,  in  1769,  he  had  previously  obtained  a  seat  and  won  distinction  in  the 
Irish  I'arliaraent.  In  1772,  at  the  early  age  of  thirty-five,  he  was  placed  at  the  head  of 
the  Irish  bar,  as  Prime  Serjeant,  in  wliich  he  continued  for  two  years,  wlien,  siding  with 
Grattan  against  the  government,  on  the  question  of  Ireland's  right  to  a  free  export  trade, 
he  resigned  his  lucrative  oflice.  It  was  restored  to  him  in  17S2,  in  wliich  year  he  was 
made  Chief  Baron  of  Uie  Irish  Exchequer,  declining  a  proffered  peerage.  He  died  the  fol- 
lowing year,  before  he  had  rompleted  the  age  of  forty.  Irehin''  might  -.veil  be  proud  of 
Buch  a  man,  whose  persuasive  eloquence  made  an  a>ra  at  thi'  Iri';h  bar  and  in  the  senate, 
equally  distinguished  for  tlie  grace  and  harmony  of  his  style,  and  the  sweefn>"i->  and  ful- 
ness of  his  voice  :  of  him  It  may  he  said,  as  of  the  Greeu  orator,  he  teas  ih--  /?.v.  Burgh 
and  Yelverton  being  both  engaged  on  Ojiposite  sides  in  some  great  and  iitiporlant  cause, 
all  the  powers  of  their  talents  were  calle<I  forth,  -iS  well  by  the  interest  the  case  excited, 
as  by  a  competition  for  fame.  In  speaking  of  the  effect  of  Burgh's  oration,  Yelvertca 
observed  to  a  friend,  that  he  ■yJ.-.W  have  been  satisfied  that  he  had  Votained  the  victory; 
"But,"  said  he,  "  wlien  I  percei/ed  an  old  cane-hardened  attorney  sitting  in  a  distant 
corner  of  the  court,  and  saw  the  tears  silently  t-nursing  down  his  iron  cheeks,  and  these 
wrung  from  him  by  the  touching  eloquence  of  Mr.  Burgh,  I  confess,"  said  Yelvertca,  "  1 
felt  myself  vinquished." — M. 


90  LUE    OF   CTLRRAN. 

reproacL ;  but  those  who  impartially  consider  the  past  and  cotem- 
porary  history  of  Ireland  will  find,  in  every  page  of  it,  his  excuse, 
if  not  his  most  ample  justification. 

For  centuries  Ireland  had  been  in  a  state  of  miserable 
bondage ;  her  history  is  but  the  disgusting  catalogue  of  her 
sufferings,  exciting  to  unprofitable  retaliation,  from  which  she 
regularly  sunk,  subdued  but  untranquilized,  into  a  condition 
of  more  embittered  wretchedness,*  with  the  penalties  of  rebellion 
superadded  to  the  calamities  of  oppression.  From  the  period 
of  her  annexation  to  England  in  the  12th  century,  down  to 
the  close  of  the  17th,  she  had  thus  conliiuied,  barbarous  and  rest- 
less ;  too  feeble  and  disunited  to  succeed,  too  strong,  and  proud, 
and  irritated  to  despair  ;  alternating  in  dieaiy  succession  between 
wild  exertions  of  delirious  strength  and  the  troubled  sleep  of 
exhausted  fury.  It  would  be  foreign  to  the  present  purpose 
to  enter  into  the  merits  of  these  melancholy  conflicts ;  to  grope 
amidst  uninteresting  records  to  ascertain  whether  Ireland  as 
an  unruly  province  deserved  her  fate,  or  whether  her  condi- 
tion was  attributable  to  an  inveterate  spirit  of  vindictive  domina- 
tion in  the  English  governments.  But  as  we  approach  more 
modern  times,  all  obscurity  on  the  subject  ceases :  we  find  the 
ruling  country  adopted  a  formal  avowed  design  of  humiliation, 
which,  however  applauded  (as  it  still  continues  to  be  by  some) 
under  the  imposing  phrase  of  the  "  wisdom  of  our  ancestors," 
was,  in  reality,  founded  in  much  inju&tice,  and,  if  effects  be 
any  test,  in  as  much  folly  ;  and  after  agitating  and  afflicting  the 
kingdom  for  the  last  century,  seems  likely  to  visit  in  its  con- 
sequences the  next. 

It  was  immediately  after  the  revolution  of  1688,  that  era 
of  glory  and  freedom  to  England,  that  Ireland  became  the 
victim   of    thi«   systematic    plan   of    debasement.      Her   adhe- 

*"  The  slave,  that  struggles  without  breaking  Lib  chain,  provokes  the  tyrant  to  double 
It,  and  gives  him  the  plea  of  self-defence  for  extingtiii!im£  what  at  first  he  only  intended 
to  subdue."— J/r.  Ctirran'<i  speech  in  ffotoison's  ccs6, — C, 


ENGLISH   MISRULE.  91 

rence  to  the  deposed  mouai-ch  and  its  result  are  familiar  to 
all.  James's  party  having  been  crushed,  Ireland  was  treated 
as  a  conquered  country,  tha:  merited  nothing  but  chastise- 
ment and  scorn.  This  was  not  the  policy  of  the  English  king; 
it  was  tliat  of  the  Englisri  whigs,*  the  framers  of  the  Bill 
of  Rights,  the  boasted  champions  of  liberty  at  home.  By  these 
men,  and  by  their  successors  (who,  of  whatever  political  denomi- 
nation, agreed  with  them  in  their  intolerance),  was  Ireland, 
without  shame  or  pity,  dismantled  of  her  most  precious  rights. 
Laws  were  made  to  binJi  her,  without  consulting  the  Irish  parlia- 
ment, which,  wht;n  it  remonstrated,  was  charged  with  riot 
and  sedition,  f  Ireland's  commerce  was  openly  discouraged : 
a  code  more  furious  than  bigotry  h'ld  hitherto  penned  was 
levelled  against  the  mass  of  the  nation,  the  Roman  CathoHcs.  | 
They  were  successively  excluded  from  the  right  to  sit  in 
Parliament,  to  acquire  land,  to  hold  any  employment  under  the 
crown,  to  vote  in  elections  of  members  of  Parliament,  to  inter- 
marry with  Protestants,  to  exercise  religious  Avorship ;  in  short, 


*"I  am  sorry  to  reflect  that  since  the  late  revolution  in  these  kinp'loins,  when  the 
subjects  of  England  have  more  strenuously  than  ever  asserted  their  own  ri^rh^s  and  the 
liberty  of  Parliairents,  it  has  pleased  them  to  bear  harder  on  their  ]ioor  neighbours  than 
has  ever  yet  been  done  in  many  ages  foregoing." — Molyneux^s  Oanne  of  Ireland.  This 
little  volume,  written  throughout  with  a  modesty  and  ability  ■wc.rthy  of  the  frieud  of 
Locke,  was  formally  censured  by  the  Lnglish  House  of  Commons,  a  ■;'rcumst::nce  that 
preceded  its  publication  is  not  without  interest.  The  author,  apprehensive  cf  any  uncon- 
scious bias  upon  his  mind,  wrote  to  his  friend  for  his  opinion  of  some  of  the  arguments ; 
Locke  replied  by  inviting  him  to  pass  over  to  England,  and  confer  with  him  in  perso;: 
upon  the  subject.  Molyncux  complied,  and  after  spending,  as  the  account  states,  an  \ 
as  may  be  well  believed,  the  five  most  delightful  weeks  of  his  life  in  the  society  of  l.i3 
llustrious  friead,  returned  to  Dublin,  and  published  his  work. — C. 

t  When  the  Irish  Commons,  in  1792,  claimed  the  right  of  originating  money  bills,  they 
were  told  by  the  viceroy.  Lord  Sydney,  that  "  They  might  go  to  England  and  beg  their 
majesties'  pardon  for  their  riotous  and  seditious  assemblies.'' — C. 

\  "  You  abhorred  it,  as  I  did,  for  its  vicious  perfection  ;  for  I  must  do  it  justice,  it  was 
a  complete  system,  full  of  coherence  and  consistency,  well  digested  and  well  compose:! 
in  all  its  parts.  It  was  a  machine  of  wise  and  elaborate  contrivance,  and  as  well  fltti-d 
for  the  oppression,  impoverishment,  and  degradation  of  a  people,  and  the  debasement 
In  them  of  human  nature  itself,  as  ever  proceeded  from  the  perverted  ingenuity  o' 
man."— .Burma's  Letter  to  Sir  II.  Langrishe. 


92  LIFE   OF   CUKRAN. 

by  a  kind  of  constructive  annihilation,  "the  laws  did  not  pre- 
sume a  papist  to  exist  in  the  kingdom,  nor  could  they  breathe 
without  the  connivance  of  government."* 

This  state  of  national  humiliation  lasted  almost  a  centurv. 
Viceroy  succeeded  vic6r.")y  with  no  other  rule  of  government  than 
to  continue  the  system  as  he  found  it.  A  race  of  subordinate 
ministers  sprang  up  within  the  land,  of  no  public  virtue,  no 
expanded  thought, utterly  unfonsc'ou'i  that  msn  can  be  improved; 
exhibiting  in  their  heartless  mBa^-urjs  that  practical  ferocity  for 
which  jailors  or  ko^peri  would  be  selected,  rather  than  uiose  mild 
and  sanati\'e  qualities  that  migiit  have  soothed  the  disterapers  of 
the  times.  "Hence  it  i-^,"'  said  Mr.  Curran,  speaking  of  this 
period,  "that  the  administratit-n  of  Ireland  so  often  presents  to 
the  reader  of  her  history,  not  the  A'iow  cf  legitimate  government, 
but  rather  of  an  encampment  in  the  country  of  a  barbarous  enemy, 
where  the  object  of  a:\  invader  is  not  govamra.^nt  but  conquest ; 
where  he  is  of  course  obliged  to  resort  to  the  corrupting  of  clans, 
or  of  single  individuals,  pointed  out  to  his  i;otice  by  public  abhor- 
rence, and  recorr.nend ;  i  tj  liis  confinei^ce  only  by  a  treachery  so 
rank  and  con^iminat-i  as  precludes  all  possibility  of  theii'  return  to 
private  vij'tue  or  to  public  reliance,  and  therefore  only  put  into 
authority  over  a  wq'etched  country,  condemned  io  the  torture  of 
all  that  ]»otulant  unfeeling  asj^erity  with  which  a  narrow  and 
malignant  mind  will  bristle  in  unmerited  elevation;  condemned 
to  be  betrayed,  and  disgraced,  and  exhausted  by  the  little  traitors 
that  luue  been  suffered  to  nestle  and  grow  within  it;  who  make  it 
at  once  the  source  of  their  grandeur  and  the  victim  of  their  vi(;es ; 
redu.iing  it  to  ihe  melancholy  necessity  of  supporting  their  conse- 
quence and  of  sinking  under  their  crimes,  like  the  lion  perishing 
by  the  poison  of  a  reptile  that  finds  shelter  in  the  mane  of  tLe 
noble  animal,  while  it  is  stinging  him  to  death."| 

Ireland  was  in  those  times,  in  as  strange  and  disastrous  a  sitwa- 

♦  Such  was  the  declaration  from  the  bench  of  the  Irish  chancellor  in  1759. — C. 
t  Mr.  Curran's  speech  in  Howison's  case, — G. 


THE   IRISH    rx\RLIAMENT.  93 

tion  AS  can  well  be  imagined ;  her  own  legislature,  "hating  and 
trampling  upon  lier  people,  and  the  English  go\enini..iit  suspect- 
ing and  despising  both.  There  may  have  been  suilicient  intricacy 
in  the  minor  details  of  the  policy  of  the  time,  but  the  leading- 
maxims  appear  in  all  the  clearness  of  despotic  simplicity.  They 
were  to  awe  the  real  or  imputed  di.-affectiou  of  the  natives  by 
means  of  a  harsh  domestic  administration,  and  to  check  any  more 
general  exercise  of  jjower  as?ume<i  by  that  administration  as  an 
intrusion  upon  the  legislaLive  supremacy  of  England.  As  far  as 
respected  internal  concerns,  the  T;•^h  Lords  and  Commons  were  a 
triumphant  faction,  despoiling  and  iiibulting  the  remains  of  a 
fallen  enemy  :  in  their  relation  vv'.tli  England,  they  were  misera- 
ble instruments,  without  contidence  or  dignity;  armed  by  their 
employers  with  the  fullest  authority  to  molest  or  to  crush,  but 
instantly  and  contemptuously  reminded  of  tLoi)  own  degradation, 
if  ever  they  evinced  any  presumptuous  desire  to  redress. 

Against  so  unnatural  a  system,  it  is  no  wonder  that  the  dis- 
countenanced claims  of  freedom  slicv.ld  have  no  avail.  If  a 
transient  scream  was  heard  among  the  people,  it  excited  imme- 
diate alarm  at  home,  as  ominous  of  an  approaching  storm;*  if 
her  voice  issued,  as  it  sometimes  di<I,  from  the  Irish  Commons,  it 
was  considered  a  daring  in\  asion  of  (ho  rights  of  a  higher  power.f 
If  the  spirit  of  that  House  became  loo  unruly  for  provincial  pur- 
poses, the  patriotic  nmrmur  was  quickly  hushed  by  lengthening 
the  pension  list ;  a  given  number  of  oppressors  was  re(|uired,  and 
while  a  venal  heart  was  to  be  had  in  the  market,  no  matter  how 
high  the  price,  the  price  was  paid,  and  the  nation  called  on  (in 
addition  to  its  other  burdens)  to  defray  the  expenses  of  its  own 
wrongs. 

•  Upon  the  trial  of  the  printer  of  Swift's  celebrated  "Letters  of  a  Drapier,"  tlie  lord 
chief-justice,  Whitshed,  declared  th;U  the  anther's  intention  was  to  bring  in  the  Preten- 
der.— Plou'deii'ii  nintory  of  Ireland,  vol.  ii.,  p.  SI.  Br.  Luras,  who  ventured,  in  his 
writings,  to  vindicate  the  rights  of  the  Irish  Coinmor.s,  was  declared  by  that  House  aa 
enemy  to  his  country,  and  obliged  to  seek  for  safety  in  e-xile,  1747. — C. 

T  Vl-ie  CJues''on  of  the  aj  propriition  of  the  suri>lu8,  in  1753. — 


94  LIFE   OF    OUREAN. 

Thus  it  continued  for  many  years :  with  all  the  iii:'-»_!ries  01 
despotism  AitijMut  its  repose;  commerce  extinguished,  the  public 
spirit  bn-kc-ii,  puljic  honour  and  private  confidence  banished,  and 
bigotiy  and  faction  alone  triumphant. 

Sentiments  of  wisdom  and  pity  at  length  occurred  to  the 
English  Cabinet:  it  began  to  doubt  if  the  Irish  people  were  so 
incurably  furious  as  their  tormentoi's  had  represented ;  it  resolved 
to  int^uire,  and  if  necessary,  to  rediess.  A  very  little  investiga- 
tion proved  that  never  was  come  merciful  interposition  more 
oppoiTune ;  it  was  Jike  a  visit  to  some  secret  cell  to  rescue  the 
victims  of  imputed  frenzy  fioni  their  inhuman  immurers,  who 
had  chained  their  persons  aiid  traduced  their  intellects,  that  they 
might  prey  upon  their  inheritance. 

The  subject  of  the  fii-st  healing  measure  was  the  Parliament. 
There  was  no  reproseiitation  of  the  people  in  Ireland;  there  was 
a  House  of  Commons,  which,  having  no  limits  to  its  duration, 
had  become  a  banditti  of  perpetual  dictators.*  The  octennial 
bill  was  passed,  and  the  liardened  veterans  disbanded.f  This  was 
not  for  the  purpose  of  mak;D;j|-  even  a  nominal  appeal  to  the  sense 
of  the  natii'm ;  it  was  t<»  give  the  Crown  an  opportunity  of 
dispersing  tbat  pr<j\iucial  oligarchy  whose  maxims  had  been  so 
ruinous  to  their  country,  and  of  substituting  in  their  place  a  class 
of  more  pliant  dependants,  who  might  readily  accord  with  the 
purposed  lenity  of  the  new  system,  j^  §  a  right,  or  a  security  for 
a  right,  which  nothing  can  give  a  people  if  they  give  it  not  them- 
selves, this  act  effected  little.  As  a  diminution  of  calamity,  as  a 
transfer  fi-om  the  barbarous  dominion  of  their  domestic  tyrants 
to  the  more  con.siderate  and  enlio-htened  control  of  the  Enshsh 
ministry,  it  had  its  value.  It  was  received  by  the  nation,  who 
have  been  ever  as  precipitate  in  their  gratitude  as  in  their  resent- 
ments, with  transports  of  enthufiiaptic  ajid  imaccustomed  joy ;  a 

*  And  four-fifths  of  the  people  were  excluded  from  the  elective  franchise  by  the  Ist 
Geo  U.  c.  9.— C. 

♦  1767,  under  the  administration  of  Lord  Townshend. — 0. 


EVE    OF   USTOEPENDENCE.  95 

signal  proof,  if  such  were  wanting,  of  their  loyalty  and  their 
debasement. 

The  Irish  House  of  Commons,  however,  began  now  to  wear  in 
some  degree  the  appearance  of  a  constitutional  assembly ;  not- 
withstanding the  political  ignominy  into  which  the  nation  bad 
fallen,  there  still  existed  in  that  house  a  small  band  of  able  and 
upright  men,  who  entertained  more  manly  and  charitable  notions 
of  a  people's  claims  than  their  \ingenerouP  opponents ;  and  who, 
though  they  might  not  possess  the  power  of  redressing  the  imme- 
diate wrongs,  were  still  ever  at  hand  to  refute  tbe  baneful  doc- 
trines that  would  have  sanctioned  their  continuance.  In  the 
British  senate  too  (it  should  be  gratefully  remembered)  Ireland 
had  her  ad\</cates;  whose  expanded  minds,  superior  to  the  paltry 
ambition  of  domination,  would  have  made  the  noblest  use  of 
their  own  privileges,  that  of  libernlly  imparting  them.  The  con- 
sequence of  these  bet^'^r  opinions  ocitasionally  appeared ;  the 
Viceroy  was  defeated  pon  some  constitutional  questions;*  the 
Commons  were  repnnianded  and  prorogued ;  measures  full  of 
honour  to  them,  and  of  hope  tc  ihm  countiy. 

But  these  were  only  trari'^^tory  v:2itations  of  spirit ;  the  effects 
rather  of  the  negligence  than  tne  weakness  of  the  viceroy.  The 
ranks  of  the  opposition  werw  soon  thinned  by  the  never-failing 
expedient,  and  whatever  relief  was  meditated  for  the  Irish,  was  to 
come  in  the  form  of  a  gift,  and  not  a  concession.  Relief  was 
certainly  in  the  contemplation  of  the  Euglisli  minister  (Lord 
North),  to  what  extent  it  is  now  immaterial  to  ic-^uii;e ;  he  was 
anticipated  by  events  that  were  above  his  control. 

Ireland  was  now  upon  the  eve  of  "  a  great  original  transaction." 
The  American  colonies  had  revolted ;  the  Irish  linen  trade  with 
those  provinces,  which  had  been  the  principal  of  Ireland's  few 
sources  of  commercial  wealth,  instantly  vanished  ;  to  this  was 

•  Among  other  instances  of  the  increasing  spirit  of  the  House  of  Commons,  was  their 
repeated  reject- jas  of  the  money  bills,  because  thet/ did  fiot  take  t/ieirris4  in  thnthoittt. 
ITW— 0, 


9(.i  LIFK    OP   CTJliKA.ir. 

added  a  general  embargo  upon  tlie  exportation  of  proM.ions,  lest 
they  might  circiiitoiisly  reach  the  insurgents.  Universal  dislrest: 
ensued.  The  Commono,  for  the  first  time,  assumed  the  attitii<le 
of  representatives  of  the  nation :  they  addressed  the  viceroy 
upon  the  pubHc  emergei  cies  with  dignity  and  firmness,  and  were 
dissolved  in  17  7  7.  Strenuous  measures  were  taken  by  the  govern- 
ment to  secure  a  majority  in  the  Parliament  that  followed ;  but 
.he  crisis  soon  arrived  when  the  destinies  of  the  country  were 
transferred  to  other  hands. 

The  internal  wretchedness  of  Ireland  had  been  great ;  it  was 
now  aggravated  by  the  danger  of  war  :  the  regular  forces  in  the 
kingdom  exceeded  not  5,000  men,  the  remainder  having  been 
called  oft'  to  recruit  the  at  my  in  America.  The  enemy's  fleers, 
superior  to  that  of  Great  Britain,  were  careering  in  triumph 
throug-h  the  channel,  and  daily  expected  upon  Ireland's  unpro- 
tected coasts.  In  this  eraerge:icy,  the  town  of  Belfast,  having 
apphed  to  Government  for  a  military  reinforcement,  and  its  requi- 
sition having  been  answered  by  an  offer  of  supply  that  cannot 
be  related  Avith  gravity,*  had  the  honour  of  first  raising  that 
warning  \  oice,  which,  hushing  everv  baser  murmur,  awoke  the 
nation  to  confidence  and  strengthc  She  called  upon  the  citizens 
to  arm  in  their  defence.  A  corps  of  Volunteers  was  immediately 
established.  The  noble  example  was  ardenth*  followed  by  the 
country  a*,  large,  and  Ireland  soon  beheld  starting  up  with  a 
scenic  rapidity,  a  self-collected,  self-disr^iplined  body  of  forty  thou- 
sand Voluntecjs.  "  You  cannot  but  remember,"  said  Mr.  Curran, 
describing  the  scene,  of  which  he  had  bt-en  a  witness,  "  that  at  a 
time  when  we  had  scarcely  a  regular  soldier  for  our  defence, 
when  the  old  and  young  were  alarmed  and  terrified  with  appre- 
hensions of  descent  upon  our  coasts,  that  Providence  seemed  to 
have  vt'orked  a  sort  of  miracle  in  our  favour.  You  saw  a  band 
of  armed  men  come  forth  at  the  great  call  of  nature,  of  lionoar, 

•  The  answer  of  the  government  was,  that  all  the  assistance  it  could  afford  was  half* 
troop  :    dismounted  horse,  and  half  a  company  of  invalids. — C. 


TIfK    mrsil    VOLIiNTEERS.  97 

and  their  country.  You  saw  men  of  the  greatest  wealth  and 
rank ;  you  saw  every  class  of  the  conimunity  give  up  its  members, 
and  send  them  armed  into  the  field,  to  protect  the  public  and 
private  tranquillity  of  Ireland.  It  is  impossible  for  any  man  to 
turn  back  to  that  period,  without  reviving  those  sentiments  of 
tenderness  and  gratitude  which  then  beat  in  the  public  bosom ; 
to  recollect  amidst  what  applause,  what  tears,  what  prayers,  what 
benedictions,  they  walked  forth  amongst  spectators  agitated  by 
the  mingled,  sensations  of  terror  and  reliance,  of  danger  and  of 
protection,  imploring  the  blessings  of  heaven  upon  their  heads, 
and  its  ponquest  upon  their  swords.  That  illustrious,  and  adored 
and  abused  body  of  men  stood  forward  and  assumed  tlie  title 
which  I  trust  the  inffratitude  of  their  country  will  never  blot  from 
its  history,  '  The  Volunteers  of  Ireland.'  "* 

The  original  object  of  these  associations  had  been  to  defend 
the  country  from  foreign  invasion.  The  administration,  for- 
getting the  loyalty  of  the  proceeding  in  their  aflright  at  so 
unexpected  an  exhibition  of  strength  and  enterprise,  beheld 
an  enemy  already  in  possession  of  the  land,  but  aftecting  to 
countenance  what  they  could  not  control,  they  supplied  the 
Volunteers  with  several  thousand  stands  of  arms,  and  looked 
to  the  return  of  more  tranquil  and  servile  times,  to  disarm 
and  defame  them. 

The  Volunteers  soon  swelled  into  an  army  of  80,000  men.  In 
tlit'ii  ranks  appeared  tlie  most  admired  characters  in  the  king- 
dom, animating  them  with  the  enthusiasm,  and  tempering  the 
general  ardour  by  all  the  courtesy,  and  the  high  moral  dis- 
cipline, that  the  presence  of  so  many  noblemen,  and  sena- 
tors, and  gentlemen,  could  inspire.  They  bad  armed  to  pro- 
tect the  crown — no  invader  appeared  ;  another  and  more  pre- 
cious object  of  protection  now  remained.  Ireland  was  at  their 
disposal,  and  tliey  unanimously  determined  that^  to  consummate 
their  work,  they  should   continue   under   arms   until   they   eaw 

t  Speech  in  Hamilton  Rnw.in's  ease. — C. 

6 


98  LIFE   OF  CURRAN. 

her  free.  They  resolved  "  to  show,  that  if  man  descends,  it 
is  not  in  his  own  proper  motion ;  that  it  is  with  labour  and  with 
pain,  and  that  he  can  continue  to  sink  only  until,  by  the  force 
and  pressure  of  the  descent,  the  spring  of  his  immortal  faculties 
acquires  that  recuperative  energy  and  effort,  that  hun-ies  him  as 
many  miles  aloft."* 

The  demands  of  the  Volunteers  were  altogether  unlike  a  more 
sudden  ebullition  of  popular  discontent.  They  were  the  result  of 
deep  convictions,  the  splendid  signs  of  the  improved  opinions  ot 
the  age.  The  example  of  America  was  before  them,  and  the  oi} 
for  redress  in  Ireland  was  but  the  echo  of  that  "  voice  which 
shouted  for  liberty"!  there.  The  mode  of  their  constitution,  too, 
was  peculiarly  fortunate  and  authoritative.  They  were  not  a 
regular  military  force,  mutinously  dictating  measures  to  the  state  ; 
they  were  not  a  band  of  insurgents,  illegal  in  their  origin  and 
objects.  The  circumstances  of  the  times  had  invested  the  Volun- 
teers with  a  constitutional  character.  The  Government  had 
recognized  them,  and  aided  their  formation  ;  the  House  of  Com- 
mons voted  them  a  formal  declaration  of  thanks  for  their  public 
services;  the  people  looked  up  to  them  with  admiration  and 
respect  as  a  brave,  united,  and  zealous  body,  combining  the 
intelligence  and  moderation  of  loyal  citizens  with  the  influ- 
ence and  resources  of  a  powerfid  army. 

The  effects  of  the  firmness  and  wisdom  of  their  proceedings 
were  soon  apjiarent.  The  demand  of  the  nation  for  a  free  trade, 
and  the  memorable  declaration  in  parliaiiient,  '■'■that  no  j^ower 
on  earthy  save  the  Kinr/^  Lords,  and  Commons  of  Ireland, 
had  a  rir/ht  to  make  laws  for  Ireland^''^  were  no  longer  dis- 
regarded. The  case  of  America  had  just  shown  how  a  struggle 
for  piinciple  might  terminate.  "British  supremacy  had  fal- 
len there  like  a  spent  thunderbolt.' '§     The  bigotry,  and  serviHty, 

*  Mr.  Curian's  speech  in  Fiiuierly'si  casi.— C.         +  An  expression  of  Mr.  Flood's. — 0 
$The  words  of  Mr.  Grattan's  m&iiou,  April  19, 1780.— 0. 
§  Mr.  Grattan's  speech,  Nov.  13, 1781.— C. 


IKELAND  S   FKEEDOM.  99 

and  disunion,  which  had  so  long  supported  it  in  Ireland,  had  for 
the  moment  disappeared.  Ireland  declared,  and  England  felt, 
that  no  other  policy  remained,  "  but  to  do  justice  to  a  pnople  who 
were  otherwise  determined  to  do  justice  to  themselves,"*  The 
British  ministry,  whose  infatuated  counsels  had  lost  America,  and 
whose  tardiness  and  insincerity  with  respect  to  Ireland  liafj 
been  encouraging  the  s[)irit  of  resistance  there,  were  removed,  and 
successors  appointed  with  instructions  to  make  such  honoura- 
ble concessions  as  were  due  to  the  services,  the  strength,  and  the 
just  pretensions  of  tlie  Irish  people.  The  principal  restiic- 
tions  upon  the  trade  of  Ireland  had  been  previously  taken 
ofi".  Under  the  Marquis  of  Rockingham's  administration,  the 
great  leading  grievance,  that  included  in  its  principle  so  many 
more,  was  redressed.  England  resigned  her  legislative  preten- 
sions, and  recognized  Ireland  to  be  a  free  nafion.\ 

This  signal   event,  so  justly  denominated  by  Mr.  Burke   the 
Irish   revolution,  was  the   work  of  the  Irish  Volunteers.     Their 
eflbrts  were  powerfully  aided  by  the  momentary  spirit  which  they 
infused    into    the    Irish    House    of  Commons.     In    many  of  its 
members,  the  enthusiasm  vanished  with  the  occasion  ;    but  there 
remained    a   few,  whose    better   natures,  superior  to  the  control 
of  accident,    continued    to    struggle    for   the   public   good    with 
a  constancy,  ability,  and  zeal,  which  sprang  from  within  then) 
selves.     Their  merits  have  been  long  since  recorded  :  the  pre 
eminent  merits  of  their  illustrious  leader,  now  associated  with  tlie 
proudest   recollections   of  his   country,  require   new    attestation. 
For   Mr.    Grattan's   most   splendid    panegyric,  for    the  only  one 
tinily  worthy  of  him,  we  are  to  look  in  what  he  has  himself  pro 
nounced.     His  public  exertions,  the  momiments  of  his  genius  and 
his  worth,   are    ]»reservcd ;  his  historian   will    have   but    to  col- 

*  Mr.  Grattan's  speech,  April  19,  17S()  — C. 

tnS2. — Several  important  constitutional  acts  were  passed  in  Ireland  during  tliis  short 
administration.  A  habeas  corpus  act,  the  repeal  of  the  perpetual  mutiny  bill,  tlie  acl 
for  the  lndei)endence  of  the  judges,  an  act  in  favdur  of  the  Dissenting  Protestants.  A 
■light  relaxation  of  the  penal  code  bad  taken  place  in  1778. — C. 


100  LITE    OF   CUERAN. 

lect  aud  refer  to  ttem,  justly  confiding,  tliat  as  long  as  eloquence, 
•patriotism,  intrepidity,  and  uncompromising  honour  are  valued  in 
public  men,  the  example  of  Mr.  Grattan  will  remain  the  subject 
of  lasting  gratitude  and  praise.* 

The  triumph  which  Ireland  gained  in  the  declaration  of 
lT)det;endence  was  the  triumph  of  a  principle,  which,  however 
gioricus  it  might  have  been  to  those  who  achieved  it,  failed 
to  confer  upon  the  nation  the  benefit  and  repose  that  the  political 
philanthropist  fondly  anticipated.  The  spirit  of  the  Parliament 
was  exhausted  in  the  single  eftbrt — they  had  emancipated  them- 
selves from  the  control  of  another  legislature ;  but  no  sooner  was 
the  victory  obtained,  than  it  became  evident  that  very  few  of  its 
fruits  were  to  be  shared  among  the  people.  Great  domestic 
abuses  still  prevailed ;  the  corrupt  state  of  the  legislature  ;f  its 
consequence,    an    enormous  and   increasing   Pension  List ;    and, 

♦Mr.  Grattan,  like  other  men  of  original  genins  and  character,  has  been  many  times 
n  the  course  of  his  meraorable  career  misrepresented  and  reviled.  The  following  spi- 
rited defence  of  him  against  such  attacks  was  made  in  the  Irish  House  of  Commons,  by 
his  friend,  Mr.  Peter  Burroughs,  a  gentleman  long  distinguished  for  his  eloquence  in  the 
senate  and  .at  the  bar,  and  for  the  unsuspected  purity  of  his  public  and  private  life; — 
"I  cannot  repress  my  indignation,  at  the  audacious  boldness  of  the  calumny,  which 
would  asperse  one  of  the  most  exalted  characters  which  any  nation  ever  produced  ;  and 
that  in  a  country  which  owes  its  liberty  and  its  greatness  to  the  energy  of  his  exertions, 
<ind  in  the  very  house  which  has  so  often  been  the  theatre  of  his  glorious  labours  and 
jplendid  .achievements.  I  remember  that  man  the  theme  of  universal  panegyric— the 
wonder  and  the  boast  of  Ireland,  for  his  genius  and  his  virtue.  His  name  silenced  the 
sceptic,  upon  the  reality  of  genuine"patriotism.  To  doubt  the  purity  of  his  motives  was 
a  heresy  which  no  tongue  dared  to  utter.  Envy  was  lost  in  admiration  ;  and  even  those 
whose  crimes  he  scourged,  blended  extorted  conpraises  with  the  murmurs  of  resentment. 
He  covered  our  {then)  unfledged  constitution  with  the  ample  wings  of  his  talents,  as  an 
eagle  covers  her  young  ;  like  her  he  soared,  and  like  her  could  behold  the  rays,  whether 
of  royal  favour  or  royal  anger,  with  undazzled,  nnintimidated  eye.  If,  according  to 
Demosthenes,  to  grow  with  the  growth,  and  decay  with  the  decline  of  our  country,  be 
the  true  criterion  of  a  good  citizen,  how  infinitely  did  this  man,  even  in  the  moment  of 
his  lowest  depression,  surpass  those  upstart  patriots  who  only  become  visible  when  their 
country  vanishes  !" — C. 

t  According  to  a  table  of  the  state  of  the  representation  of  Ireland,  published  in  1783, 
out  of  the  30n  members  of  the  House  of  Commons  (viz  ,  for  82  counties,  64  knights  ;  for 
seven  cities,  14  citizens  ;  for  one  nnivei-sity,  two  representatives  ;  for  110  boroughs,  220 
burgesses),  the  people  returned  81,  including  the  64  for  counties,  and  the  patrons  the 
remaining  219. — C. 


THE   OPPOSITION.  101 

above  all,  tlie  exclusiou  of  the  Kuuiaii  Catholics  from    he  most 
valuable  j-rivileges  of  the  constitutiou.     There  were  many  othei's 
of  subordinate  importance.     From   Mr.   Currau's   eutrauce    iuto 
Parliament,  he  joined    those   whose    opinion    it  was    that  these 
abuses  should  be  corrected.     Tlie  result  of  the  exertions  of  him- 
self and    the    party  with  which  for  the  fourteen  years  that  he 
was    a   senator,    he    acted,    is   shortly    told.     They    almost    uni- 
formly failed   in    every  measure    that   they  brought  forvrard  or 
opposed.     It   would   far   exceed    the    limits    and   the  objects  of 
this  work   to   discuss   at  any  length  the  merits   of  these   seve- 
ral measures,  some  of  which  continue  to  this  day  the  subject  of 
anxious   controversy  upon   another  and   a  greater  theatre.     Yet 
it  may  be  observed,  that  the  acts  of  the  Irish  legislature  during 
the  jieriod  in  question  atford  matter,  if  not  of  a  very  attractive 
kind,  at  least  of  very  solemn  and  important  instruction.     Who- 
ever   takes   the    pains    to    examine    them  will   find   how  transi- 
tory, and  almost  valueless  to  a  nation  the  glory  of  asserting  nomi- 
nal rights,  if  there  be  not  diHiised  throughout  its  various  classes 
that  fund  of  conservative  virtue  and  spirit,  which  alone  can  give 
dignity  and  stability  to  its  independence,  by  operating  as  a  perpe- 
tual renewal  of  its  claims.     He  will  find  one  practical  and  terri- 
ble example   (illustrated  by  continued  discontents  and  disturb- 
ances, and  finally  by  a  rebellion)  of  the  folly  of  expecting  thai 
human   beings,  in   whom   the  political   passions  have  been  once 
awakened,    can    be    attached,  or    even    reconciled,    to   the   most 
admired  form  of  government,  by  any  other  means,  than  by  a  real, 
and  conscientious  communication  of  those  privileges,  for  which 
they   would   deem   it  dishonorable   not  to   thirst.     For   the   last 
eighteen  years  of  her  separate  existence,  Ireland  was  in  the  theo- 
retic enjovment  of  the  same  constitution  which  has  long  made 
Great  Britain  the  wonder  of  other  nations;  but  in  Ireland,  how, 
ever  boasted  the  acquisition,  it  soon  appeared  to  be  Imt  a  lifeless 
copy,  minutely  exact  in  external  form,  but  wanting  all  the  vi_n-purj, 
»nd  warmth,  and  imparting  spirit  of  the  glorious  original.     The 


102  LIFE   OF   OURRAH. 

Irish  leg'islature,  seduced  by  their  fatal  ardour  for  monopoly, 
would  not  see  that  their  own  emancipation  1  ad  sent  abroad 
a  general  taste  for  freedom,  which  it  was  most  perilous  to  disap- 
point. Unwisely  and  ungenerously  separating  their  interests  and 
pride  from  those  of  their  country,  they  preferred  taking  a  weak 
and  hostile  position  upon  the  narrow  ground  of  exclusive  privi- 
lege, instead  of  taking  their  stand,  where  there  was  ample  space 
for  the  parliament  and  people,  and  for  all,  upon  the  base  of -the 
British  constitution.*  They  aftected  to  think  that  the  time 
had  not  arrived  when  the  Catholic  could  be  trusted ;  as  if 
the  enjoyment  of  rights  and  confidence  for  a  single  year  would 
not  prove  a  more  instructive  school  of  fidelity  than  centuries  of 
suspicion  and  exclusion.  But  in  reality  it  does  not  appear  from 
the  transactions  of  those  times,  that  the  minds  of  the  excluded 
Catholics  M'ere  less  matured  for  all  the  responsibiHties  of  indepen- 
dence than  those  of  the  Irish  aristocracy,  upon  wIkuu  alone 
the  recent  revolution  had  confered  it.  The  80,000  Volunteers, 
who  had  been  the  instruments  of  that  independence,  were  not  a 
Protestant  association.  Tlie  depreciated  Catholic  was  in  their 
raiTks,  adding  the  authority  of  his  strength,  his  zeal,  and  his 
moderation,  to  the  cause  of  the  Irish  Parliament,  and  not 
unreasonably  confiding,  that  in  the  hour  of  victory  his  ser- 
vices would  be  remembered.  These  services  and  claims  were, 
however,  forgotten;  and  here  it  is  that  the  Irish  legislature 
will  be  found  utterly  unworthy  of  that  controlling  power  wliicli 
they  had  lately  acquired  over  the  destinies  of  their  country— in 
abandoning,  as  they  did,  a  proud,  ir  ritated,  and  robust  population, 
to  all  the  contingent  suggestions  and  resources  of  their  indigna 


*  11  ■ 


'I  have  read,"  said  Mr.  Curran,  speaking  of  these  unpopular  maxims  of  the  Irish 
Parliament,  "I  have  read  the  history  of  other  nations.  I  have  read  the  history  of 
yours.  I  have  seen  how  happily  you  emerged  from  insignificance  and  obtained  a  con- 
stitution. But  when  you  washed  this  constitution  with  the  waters  which  were  to  render 
it  invulnerable,  you  forgot  that  the  part  by  which  you  held  it  was  untouched  by  the 
immersion;  it  was  benumbed  and  not  rendered  invulnerable,  and  should  therefore 
aHract  your  nicest  care."— i>-!sA  Par.  Deh.  1T8T. 


THE   LEGISLA.TUEE   AilD   THE   EXEOUTIVE.  103 

tiou — iu  not  Laving  '•  interposed  the  Constitution,"   to  save  the 
State. 

But  the  point  of  view,  iu  which  a  regular  history  of  the  latter 
conduct  and  character  of  the  Irish  House  of  Commons  would 
supply  matter  of  no  ordinary  interest  to  a  lover  of  the  British 
Constitution,  is  in  the  example  which  it  would  afford,  of  an  assem- 
bly, founded  upon  the  model  of  that  constitution,  exhibiting  itself 
in  its  stage  of  final  deterioration.  In  Ireland  the  prediction  of 
Montesquieu*  has  been  verified — not  in  all  its  dismal  extent,  for 
Irish  independence  has  found  an  euthanasia  peculiar  and  acciden- 
tal ;  but  still  the  spectacle  of  legislative  immorality,  and  its  instruc- 
tive warnings,  are  the  same.  The  corrupted  Commons  of  Ireland 
surrendered  all  that  was  demanded — all  that  a  few  years  before 
they  had  gloried  in  having  acquired  ;  and  if  a  valuable  portion  of 
their  country's  rights  and  hopes  was  not  included  in  the  sale,  the 
praise  of  having  respected  them  is  due  to  the  wisdom  and  mercy 
of  the  purchasers,  and  not  to  any  honourable  reluctance  on  the 
side  of  the  mercenary  sellers.  In  whatever  light  the  Act  of  Union 
be  vievred,  in  its  ultimate  consequences  to  the  enipire,  the  assembly 
which  perpetiated  it  must  be  considered  as  having  reached  the 
farthest  limits  of  degeneracy ;  because  the  terms  on  which  they 
insisted  have  stamped  upon  Ihom  a  characier  of  political  dishonour 
that  disdained  every  control  of  cojhpunction  or  of  pride.  For  if 
the  surrender  to  which  they  consented  v/as  regarded  by  them  as  a 
sacrifice  of  Ireland's  rights,  how  enormous  and  unmitigated  the 
delinquency! — or  if,  on  the  other,  harid,  they  imagined  it  to  be 
essential  to  the  welfare  of  the  empire,  iiov.^  vile  and  fallen  that 
spirit  which  could  degrade  a  necessary  act  of  state  into  a  sordid 
contract !  The  Parliament  that  could  do  this  had  no  longer  any 
morals  to  lose — and  therefore  it  is,  that  tlie  constitutional  English-  • 
man,  who  is  labouring  to  procrastinate  the  fulfilment  of  the  pro- 
phecy that  impendi  over  his  ovm  hitherto  more  fortunate  country, 

*  "That  the  British  Constitutinn  ^vould  not  siirvivf  the  event  of  the  legislative  power 
becoming  t-ore  c<  riravt  thau  tic  esccui  •e," — Spirit  »/  Lau-s, 


104  LIFE   OF   OUKRAK. 

Is  referred  for  abimdaut  illustrations  of  tlie  appreli<~£".dci  cricis  tc 
the  decline  and  fall  of  the  Irish  Legislature.  In  contemplating 
thhl  scene,  he  will  have  an  opportunity  of  observing  the  great 
leading  symptoms,  and  ^which  may  equally  deserve  his  attention) 
oi  discerning  the  minute,  but  no  less  unening  signs  which  portend 
that  the  spirit  which  gives  it  life  is  about  to  depart  from  the  repre- 
sentative body ;  and  should  it  ever  be  his  calamity  to  witness,  what 
he  win  find  Ireland  was  condemned  to  see,  the  members  of  that 
body  betraying,  by  their  conduct  and  language,  that  they  held 
their  station  as  a  portion  of  their  private  property,  rather  than  as 
a  temporary,  public  trust — should  he  observe  a  general  and  insa- 
tiate appetite  for  power,  for  the  sake  of  its  emoluments  and  not 
its  honours — should  he  see,  as  Ireland  did,  grave  and  authenticated 
charges  of  public  delinquency  answered  by  personal  menaces,  or 
by  most  indecent  ridicule — skilful  duellists  and  jesters  held  in 
peculiar  honour — public  virtue  systematically  discountenanced,  by 
imputing  its  profession  to  a  factious  disappointed  spirit — should  he 
see,  within  the  walls  of  the  Commons'  assembly,  a  standing  bri- 
gade of  mercenaries,  recognising  no  duty  beyond  fidelity  to  their 
emjiloyers,  the  Swiss  defenders  of  any  minister  or  any  principle — 
.should  he,  lastly,  observe  a  marked  predilection  for  penal  restraints, 
an  unseemly  propensity  to  tamper  with  the  Constitution,  by  expe- 
rimental suspensions  of  its  established  usages — should  English- 
men ever  find  all,  or  many  of  these  to  be  the  characteristics  of  the 
depositories  of  their  rights,  let  them  remember  the  prediction  of 
the  philosopher,  and  the  fate  of  Ireland,  and  be  assured  that  their 
boasted  securities  are  becoming  but  a  name. 

But  to  record  at  length  the  progress  of  that  fate,  to  dwell  in 
any  detail  upon  the  various  characters,  and  the  various  induce- 
ments (whether  of  hope,  terror,  avarice,  ambition,  or  public  duty) 
of  the  men  who  accelerated,  and  of  those  who  woidd  have  averted 
the  catastrophe,  might  well  be  the  subject  of  a  sepai'ate  and  a 
very  considerable  work.  It  mil  be  sufficient  for  the  purposes  of 
Mr.  Curran's  history  to  have  made  these  cursory  allusions  to  th^ 


HIS   FAKLIAMEWTABY    SPEECHES.  10.5 

spirit  of  the  times  in  which  he  acted,  leaving  more  ample  devel- 
opments of  it  to  himself,  in  the  specimens  of  his  eloquence  that 
will  be  found  in  the  following  pages. 

Mr.  Curran's  Parliamentary  speeches  have  been  always,  and 
justly,  considered  as  iiift^rior  to  his  displays  at  the  Bar.  To  this 
deficiency  many  circumstances  contributed.  iJepending-  solely 
upon  his  profession  for  support,  he  v.as  not  only  seldom  able  to 
give  an  undivided  attention  to  the  questions  that  were  brought 
before  the  senate,  but  he  perpetually  came  to  the  discussion  of 
them,  exhausted  by  the  professional  labours  of  the  day.  The 
greater  number  of  the  important  questions  that  emanated  from 
the  Opposition  were  naturally  introduced  by  the  older  leaders  of 
til  at  party ;  while  he,  whose  talents  were  most  powerful  in  reply, 
was  reserved  to  combat  the  arguments  of  the  other  side.  The 
debate?,  upon  these  occasions,  were  in  general  protracted  to  a  very 
late  liour,  so  tiiat  it  often  happened,  when  Mr.  Curran  rose  to 
speak,  that  the  note-takers  were  sleeping  over  their  task,  or  had 
actually  quitted  the  gallery.  But,  most  of  all,  the  same  careless- 
ness of  fame,  which  has  left  his  speeches  at  the  Bar  in  their  pre- 
sent uncorrected  state,  has  irretrievably  injured  his  Parliamentary 
reputation.  While  other  members  sat  up  whole  nights  retouching 
their  speeches  for  publication,  he  almost  invariably  abandoned  his 
to  their  fate,  satisfied  with  having  made  the  exertion  that  his 
sense  of  duty  dictated;  and  deeming  it  of  little  moment  that  what 
had  failed  of  success  within  the  house  should  circulate  and  be 
applauded  without.* 

Xtjtwithstanding  these  disadvantages,  however,  his  career  in 
Parliament  supplies  much  that  is  in  the  highest  degree  honourable 
to  his  talents,  spirit,  and  public  integrity ;  of  which  the  leading 
examples  shall  be  adverted  to  as  they  occur  in  the  order  of  time. 

•  Another  circumstance  contributed  greatly  to  the  inaccuracy  of  the  reported  speechei 
of  such  opposition  membeis  as  would  not  take  the  pains  of  correcting  them.  The  most 
BkUful  note-takers,  of  whom  the  number  was  very  smnll,  were  in  the  service  of  the  Gov- 
ernment, and  considered  it  a  part  of  their  duty-to-suppiess  whatever  .it  might  .not  b« 
agreeai)!©  to  the  Administration  to-see  published.T—C -..  -■-  _■-    ;.:.,■';•..■.'  .    . 

5* 


106  LIFE  OF   C  URBAN. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Mr.  Fl'jod's  plan  of  Parliamentary  Reform — Mr.  Currau's  contest  and  duel  with  Mr.  Fits- 
gibbon  (afterwards  Lord  Clare)— Spsecli  on  Pensions — His  professional  success — Mode 
of  life — Occasional  versas — Visits  France — Letters  from  Dieppe  and  Rouen — Anecdote 
— Letters  from  Paris — Anecdote — Letter  fr<im  Mr.  Boyse — Anecdote  of  Mr.  Boyse — Let- 
ters from  Holland. 

The  first  occasion  upon  which  Mr.  Currau's  name  appears  in 
the  Parliamentary  register,  is  in  the  tempestuous  debate  of 
November  29,  1Y83,  upon  Mr.  Flood's  proposition  for  a  Reform 
in  Parliament.*  The  Convention  of  Volunteer.s,  by  whom  Mr. 
Flood's  plan  had  been  approved,  was  still  sitting  in  Dublin.  About 
four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  of  the  29th  of  November,  that 
gentleman  rose  in  the  Convention,  and  proposed  that  he,  accom- 
panied by  such  members  of  Parliament  as  Avere  then  present, 
should  immediately  go  down  to  the  House  of  Commons,  and 
move  for  leave  to  bring  in  a  bill  exactly  corresponding  with  the 
plan  of  reform  approved  of  by  them,  and  that  the  Convention 
should  not  adjourn  till  the  fate  of  his  motion  was  ascertained. 
Lord  Charlemont's  biographer,  who,  apparently  with  much 
reason,  condemns  the  violence  of  this  proceeding,  describes  the 
scene  in  the  House  of  Commons  as  terrific :  several  of  the 
minority,  and  all  the  delegates  fi-om  the  Convention,  appeared  in 
their  military  uniforms.  As  to  the  debate,  "  it  was  uproar,  it  was 
clamour,  violent  menace,  and  furious  recrimination."f  In  the 
little  that  Mr.  Curran  said,  he  supported  Mr.  Flood's  motion.^ 

*  This  is  an  error.  Curran's  name  first  appears  in  tlie  Parliamentary  Debates  on 
November  12, 1T83,  when  he  briefly  objected  to  the  issue  of  a  new  writ  for  Enniscarthy. 
Again,  on  November  18,  be  casually  recommended  immediate  attention  to  the  claims  of 
some  distressed  manufacturers.  Mr.  Curran,  as  member  for  the  borough  of  Kilbeggan, 
was  then  colleague  of  Henry  Flood. — M. 

+  Hardy^s  Life  of  Lord  Charlemont,  page  270,  where  the  particulars  of  this  interest- 
ing scene  are  very  strikingly  detailed.— 0. 

%  B'ariry  T  sWerlbn,  thfeo  Atti^rn&y-Qeneral,  had  made  a  damaging  spe'ecb  against 


PERSONAL    VINDICATION.  107 

l~x  the  following  month  he  spoke  more  at  length  in  prefacing  a 
aoaon  on  tin  riijlit  of  the  House  of  Commons  to  oriofinato 
money  bills ;  but  as  neither  this,  nor  any  of  his  parliamentary 
speeches  during  the  session  of  1783  and  1784,  contain  much 
that  is  remarkable,  it  would  be  unnecessarily  swelling  these  pages 
to  dwell  upon  tlem  in  detail. 

[Some  notice  of  Curran's  early  parliamentary  career  may  not 
be  quite  uninteresting.  On  December  16,  1783,  on  moving 
"that  it  is  the  sole  and  undoubted  privilege  of  the  Com- 
mons of  Ireland  to  originate  all  bills  of  supply  and  grants 
of  public  money,  in  such  manner,  and  with  such  clauses  as 
they  shall  think  proper,"  Curran  spoke  at  some  length,  declar- 
ing that  he  was  no  party  man,  and  entering  into  a  history  of 
'.he  right  of  the  Commons  to  originate  and  frame  money-bills. 
lie  said,  "I  lament  that  a. learned  and  honourable  member,  with 
whom  I  once  had  the  pleasure  of  living  on  terms  of  friendship, 
is  now  absent ;  becanse  I  think  I  might  rely  upon  his  supporting 
the  resolution  I  intend  to  propose;  that  support  would,  perhaps, 
reiunv  the  intercourse  of  our  friendship,  which  has  been  lately 
interrupted.  And  I  must  beg  the  indulgence  of  the  Ilouse  to 
say,  that  that  friendship  was  upon  the  footing  of  perfect  equality, 
not  imposed  by  obligation  on  the  one  side,  or  bound  by  gratitude 
by  the  other;  for  I  thank  God,  when  that  friendship  commenced, 
T  was  above  receinno- obliffations  from  any  man,  and  therefore,  our 
friendship,  as  it  was  more  pure  and  disinterested,  as  it  depended 
on  a  sympathy  of  minds,  and  congeniality  of  sentiments,  I  trusted 
would  have  endured  the  longei".  I  think  myself  bound  to  make 
this  public  declaration,  as  it  has  gone  forth  from  this  House,  that 
I  am  a  man  of  ingratitude,  and  to  declare,  that  for  any  difference 

Flood's  proposition;  Langrishe,  George  Ponsonby,  Fitzgibbon, Burke,  and  Hutchinson  also 
opposed  it.  Then  weakly  but  pertly,  Hardy  (afterwards  Lord  Charlemonl's  biographer) 
spoke  In  opposition,  and  Curran's  speech,  in  which  he  cautioned  the  House  not  to  make 
a  public  declaration  against  the  Volunteers,  was  in  reply  to  Hardy.  Leave  to  bring  In 
the  bill  was  refused  by  a  large  majority;  a  counter  resolution  against  interferencfe  by  the 
Volonteeri  vat  then  csirried :  and,  sdoa  after,  the  Convention  dls^v'ed.— M. 


108  LIFE   OF   CUKKAN. 

of  opinion  with  my  learned  and  right  honorable  friend,  I  cannot 
be  taxed  with  ingratitude ;  for  that  I  never  received  any  obligs- 
tion  from  him,  but  lived  on  a  footing  of  perfect  equality,  save  only 
so  far  as  his  great  talents  and  erudition  outwsnt  mine." 

Leonard  MacNally's  copy  of  Curran's  speeches,  a  present  from 
Curran  himself,  contains  a  note  in  which  it  is  stated  that  the 
person  thus  referred  to  was  Barry  Yelverton — but  their  coolness 
was  of  a  much  later  date.  Besides,  their  friendship  commenced 
in  youth,  when  neither  was  in  independent  circumstances. 

On  February  14th,  1785,  Curran  supported  an  unsuccessful 
motion  of  Flood's,  that  the  immediate  and  effectual  retrenchmet't 
of  the  national  expenses  was  necessary.  On  the  same  day, 
Curran  delivered  a  panegyric  on  the  Volunteers,  and  personally 
attacked  Mr.  Luke  Gardiner,  whom  he  called  •'  the  little  advocate," 
for  voting  ministerially,  in  the  hoj)e  of  being  rewarded  by  being 
raised  to  a  higher  rank.  (In  fact,  he  was  created  Lord  Mountjoy 
at  the  Union.)  This  led  to  a  wordy  wrangle  with  Gardiner, 
whose  defence  was  undertaken  by  Fitzgibbon,  afterwards  Earl  of 
Clare,  who,  assailing  Curran  as  champion  of  the  Volunteers,  said, 
"  As  I  feel  myself  in  a  very  different  situation  from  that  honour- 
able member,  I  shall  ever  entrust  the  defence  of  the  country  to 
gentlemen,  with  the  King's  commission  in  their  pockets,  rather 
than  to  his  friends,  the  beggars  in  the  streets."] 

In  the  year  1785  took  place  his  quarrel  with  the  late  Lord 
Clare,  then  Mr.  Fitzgibbon,  the  Attorney-General*  an  event  which 
deeply  aftiected  his  future  fortunes.  During  Mr.  Curran's  first 
years  at  the  bar  they  had  been  on  terms  of  polite  and  even 
familiar  intercourse  ;f  but  the  dissimilarity  of  their  public 
characters,  the  high  aristocratic  arrogance   of  the  one,  and  the 


*  John  Fitzgibbon  was  made  Solicitor-General  on  November  9tl),  17S3,  and  on  December 
20th,  17S3,  succeeded  Yelverton  as  Attorney-General.  This  latter  office  he  retained  until 
he  was  made  Lord  Ch  incellor,  on  August  12th,  1789,  his  place  as  leading  law  officer  to  the 
Ci:own,  being  theu  taken  by  Arthur  Wolfe,  afterwards  Lord  Kilwarden. — M. 

f  T^e  fii-st  *ag.  that  Mr.  Curran  ever  carried  was  presented  to  him  by  Mr.  Fitfgibbon.- 
fcr  good  lucW4'sake. — C. 


LORD  CHANCELLOR  CLARE.  109 

popular  tenets  of  tlie  otlier,  soon  separated  tliem;  even  their 
private  tastes  and  liaLits  would  have  forbidden  a  lasting  friend- 
ship. Lora  Clare  despised  literature,  in  Avhich  Mr.  Curran  so 
deli"-hted.  The  one  in  private  as  in  public,  disdained  all  the  arts 
of  winning ;  he  was  sullen  or  overbearing,  and  when  he  conde- 
scended to  be  jocular  was  generally  offensive.  The  other  was  in 
all  companies  the  reverse  ;  playful,  communicative,  and  conciliat- 
ing. Mr.  Curran  never,  like  his  more  haughty  rival,  regulated  his 
urbanity  by  the  rank  of  his  companions;  or  if  he  did,  it  was  by 
a  diametrically  opposite  rule ;  the  more  humble  the  person,  the 
more  cautiously  did  he  abstain  from  inflicting  pain.  For  all  those 
lighter  talents  of  wit  and  fancy  which  Mr.  Curran  was  inces- 
santly and  almost  involuntarily  displaying,  Lord  Clare  had  a  real 
or  an  affected  contempt,  and  would  fain  persuade  himself  that 
they  were  incompatible  with  those  higher  powers  which  he  con- 
sidered coidd  alone  raise  the  possessor  to  an  equality  with  him- 
self. Mr.  Curran  was  perhaps  equally  hasty  in  underrating  the 
abilities  of  his  antagonist.  Detesting  his  arbitrary  principles, 
and  disgusted  with  his  unpopular  manners,  he  would  see  nothing 
in  him  but  the  petty  despot,  ascending  to  a  bad  eminence  by 
obvious  and  unworthy  methods,  and  therefore  meriting  his  un- 
qualified hatred  and  invective. 

With  such  elements  of  personal  dislike  and  political  hostility,  it 
is  not  surprising  that  when  they  met  they  should  clash,  and  that 
the  conflict  should  be  %nolent  and  lasting.  Tlie  very  destinies  of 
the  two  men  seemed  to  have  placed  them  where  their  contrasted 
qualities  and  peculiar  force  might  be  most  s(i-ikingly  displayed. 
Lord  Clare  was  fitted  by  nature  to  attain  power  and  to  abuse  it. 
Many  men  of  inferior  capacity  might  have  attained  as  much  ;  but 
without  his  resources  and  perseverance,  few  could  have  continued 
so  long  to  abuse  it  with  impunity.  Mr.  Curran  was  either  igno- 
rant of,  or  despised  the  arts  which  led  to  station  ;  his  talent  lay  not 
in  defending  doubtful  measui-es  or  selecting  political  expedients, 
but  ij  exposing  violated  trust ;  in  braving  and  denouncing  public 


110  LIFE   OF   CUKRAN. 

delinquei  ts,  in  pathetic  or  indignant  appeals  to  those  natural  ele- 
mentary principles  of  human  rights,  against  wliich  political  expe- 
dients are  too  frequently  directed.  He  could  never,  like  Lord 
Clare,  have  managed  a  venal,  restless  aristocracy,  so  as  to  com- 
mand their  concurrence  in  a  long  system  of  unpopular  encroach- 
ments ;  nor  like  him  have  continued  for  years  to  face  the  public 
reprobation  of  such  conduct:  as  little  could  the  latter,  had  he 
sided  with  the  people,  have  brought  to  their  cause  such  varied 
stories  of  wit  and  ridicule,  and  persuasive  eloquence,  as  the 
harangues  of  his  more  gifted  rival  display. 

In  a  debate  on  the  Abuse  of  Attachments  by  the  King's  Bench, 
in  the  Irish  House  of  Commons  (February  24,  1785),  as  Mr.  Cur- 
ran  rose  to  speak  against  them,  perceiving  that  Mr.  Fitzgibbon 
Iliad  fallen  asleep  on  his  seat,  he  thus  commenced :  "  I  hope  I  may 
bay  a  few  words  on  this  great  subject  without  disturbing  the  sleep 
vf  any  light  honourable  member,  and  yet,  perhaps,  I  ought  rather 
<o  envy  than  blame  the  tranquillity  of  the  right  honourable  gen- 
tleman. I  do  not  feel  myself  so  happily  tempered  as  to  be  lulled 
to  repose  by  the  storms  that  shake  the  land.  If  they  invite  rest 
to  any,  that  rest  ought  not  to  be  lavished  on  the  guilty  spirit."* 
Provoked  by  these  expressions,  and  by  the  general  tenor  of  the 
observations  that  followed,  Mr.  Fitzgibbon  replied  to  Mr.  Curran 
with  much  personality,  and  among  other  things  denominated  him 
a  2'>tiny  babbler.  The  latter  retorted  by  the  following  description 
of  his  opponent :  "  I  am  not  a  man  w  hose  respect  in  person  and 
character  depends  upon  the  importance  of  his  office ;  I  am  not  a 
voung  man  who  thrusts  himself  into  the  foreground  of  a  picture, 
which  ought  to  be  occupied  by  a  better  figure  ;  I  am  not  one  who 
r'^-plies  with  invective  when  sinking  under  the  weight  of  argument ; 

*  Although  Mr.  Curran  appears  here  to  have  commenced  hostilities,  it  should  be  men- 
tioned, that  he  was  apprised  of  Mr.  Fitzgibbon's  having  given  out  in  the  ministerial  cir- 
cles that  he  should  take  an  opportunity,  during  this  debate,  in  which  he  knew  that  Mr. 
Curran  would  take  a  part,  of  putting  dmon  the  young  patriot.  The  Duchess  of  Rutland 
and  all  the  ladies  of  the  Castle  were  present  in  the  gallery  to  witness  what  Mr.  Curran 
•aEtid,  In  the  course  of  the  debate,  "  this  exhibition  by  command."— C. 


PARIJAMKNTARY    WORK.  Ill 

[  am  not  a  man  who  denies  tlie  necessity  of  a  parliamentary 
reform  at  tlie  time  that  he  proves  its  expediency  by  reviling  his 
ovfn  constituents,  the  parish-clerk,  the  sexton,  and  grave-digger ; 
and  if  there  be  any  man  wlio  can  apply  what  I  am  not  to  hijn- 
self,  I  leave  him  to  think  of  it  in  the  committee,  and  to  contem- 
plate upon  it  when  he  goes  home."  The  result  of  this  night's 
debate  was  a  duel  between  Mr.  Curran  and  Mr.  Fitzgibbon  ;  after 
exchanging  shots  they  separated,  only  confirmed  in  their  feelings 
of  mutual  aversion,  oi*  which  some  of  the  consequences  will  appear 
hereafter.* 

[The  first  of  Curi  m's  speeches  displaying  remarkable  ability 
(Davis  says)  is  a  short  one  made  on  Orde's  Commercial  Proposi- 
tions. Orde,f  who  was  Chief  Secretary  of  Ireland,  had  proposed 
several  resolutions  by  which  Reciprocity  would  be  nominally 
granted  to  Ii'eland  in  trade,  commerce,  and  manufactures,  as 
regarded  England,  In  reality,  their  design  was  to  draw  large 
sums  from  Ireland  for  "  general  defence  "  (of  England),  in  return 
for  which  the  poorer  country  would  be  allowed  to  compete  with 
the  wealthier  and  stronger.  Curran  spoke  briefiy  on  the  subject 
on  June  30,  1785,  and,  at  much  greater  length,  on  July  23.  He 
spoke  again  on  the  11th  and  12th  of  August — his  last  speech  not 
having  commenced  until  six  in  the  morning,  when  he  declared, 
exhausted  as  he  was,  that  his  zeal  had  renewed  his  strength,  and 
hoped  that  his  then  state  of  mind  and  body  might  not  be  ominous 
of  the  condition  to  which  Ireland  would  be  reduced,  if  the  bill 
should  become  a  law.  He  prophetically  said  that  if  England  were 
allowed  the  right  of  taxing  Ireland  as  she  pleased,  "we  must  either 

*  When  the  parties  were  placed  on  the  ground  tliey  were  left  to  fire  when  they  pleased. 
Curran  had  the  first  shot,  without  effect.  Fitzgibbon  then  took  aim  for  nearly  half  a 
minute,  and  on  his  fire  being  ineffectual,  Curran  exclaimed,  "  It  was  not  your  fault,  Mr. 
Attorney;  you  were  dHiberate  enough." — M. 

t  Mr.  Thomas  Orde  liiul  married  the  natural  daughter  of  the  fifth  Duke  of  Bolton,  on  whom 
her  father  had  entailed  the  principal  part  of  his  large  estates,  of  failure  of  male  heir->  to 
his  brother  Henry,  sixth  liukc.  In  1794,  the  Dukedom  became  extinct,  by  the  death  of  the 
Biifth  Duke,  and,  in  179i,  llr,  Orde  was  created  Baron  Bolton,  of  Bolton  Castle,  County  of 
York      He  died  in  1S07.— M. 


112  LIFE   OF'cURRAJ^. 

sink  into  utter  slavery,  or  the  people  must  wade  to  a  re-assumption 
of  their  rights  through  blood,  or  he  obliged  to  take  refuge  in  a 
Union,  which  would  be  the  annihilation  of  Ireland,  and  what,  I 
suspect,  the  Ministr?j  is  driving  at."  Three  days  after  this,  Orde 
withdrew  his  bill — but,  from  that  hour,  Pitt  determined  to  carry 
the  Union. 

On  March  11,  1786,  Curran  spoke  on  the  Portugal  Trade,  and 
glanced  at  Toler's  (afterwards  Lord  Norbury)  unfortunate  "  knack 
of  turning  matters  of  the  most  serious  nature  into  ridicule." 
Toler  was  then  at  once  the  bujh  and  bravo  of  Ministers.] 

One  of  the  public  grievances,  which  the  Irish  Opposition  fre- 
quently, but  vainly,  attempted  to  redress,  was  the  enormity  of  the 
Pension  List.  On  the  13th  of  May,  in  this  year  (IVSO),  Mr.  Forbes 
brought  forward  a  motion  upon  the  subject,  which,  as  usual, 
failed.*  A  part  of  Mr.  Curran's  speech  upon  that  occasion  may 
be  given  as  a  specimen  of  the  lighter  mode  of  attack  to  which  he 
sometimes  resorted  where  he  saw  that  gravity  would  have  been 
unavailing ;  and  it  may  be  observed  that  this,  like  many  more  of 
the  same  kind,  are  historical  documents,  which  are,  perhaps,  tno 
most  descriptive  of  the  times.  Tlie  very  absence  of  serious 
remonstrance  shows  that  serious  remonstrance  had  been  exhausted, 
and  that  nothing  remained  but  that  ridicule  should  take  its  ven- 
geance upon  those  whom  argument  could  not  reform.f 

"  I  am  surprised  that  gentlemen  have  taken  up  such  a  foolish 
opinion  as  that  our  constitution  is  maintained  by  its  different 
component  parts,  mutually  checking  and  controlling  each  other. 
They  seem  to  think,  with  Hobbes,  that  a  state  of  nature  is  a  state 
of  warfare,  and  that,  like  Mahomet's  coffin,  the  constit  ition  is  sus- 

•  The  debate  took  place,  not  in  May,  but  in  March.  Mr.  Forbes's  motion  was  leave  to 
bring  in  a  bill  to  limit  the  aruount  of  pensions.  Sir  Hercules  Langrishe  moved  the 
adjournment  of  the  question  until  August  (equivalent  to  sine  die),  and  it  was  adjourned, 
but  ngain  brought  on  in  the  following  year.— M. 

tUpon  this  occasion,  Mr.  Grattan  caused  the  Pension  List  to  be  read  aloud  by  the  clerk, 
and  concluded  his  speech  by  saying,  "  If  I  should  vote  that  pensions  are  not  a  grieva.».e, 
lihould  vote  an  impudent,  an  insolent,  and  a  public  lie."— C. 


THE   PENSION   LIST.  113 

pended  by  the  attraction  of  different  powers.  My  friends  seem  to 
think  that  the  Crown  should  be  restrained  from  doing  wrong  by  a 
physical  necessity,  forgetting  that  if  you  take  away  from  a  man 
all  power  to  do  wr9ng,  you  at  the  same  time  take  away  from  him 
all  merit  of  doing  right;  and  by  making  it  impossible  for  men  to 
run  into  slaver}^,  you  enslave  them  most  effectually.  But  if, 
instead  of  the  three  different  parts  of  our  constitution  drawing 
forcibly  in  right  lines  at  opposite  directions,  they  were  to  unite 
their  power,  and  draw  all  one  way,  in  one  right  line,  how  great 
would  be  the  effect  of  their  force — how  happy  the  direction  of 
their  union !  The  present  system  is  not  only  contrary  to  mathe- 
matical rectitude,  but  to  public  harmony:  but  if,  instead  of  Pri\-i- 
lege  setting  up  his  back  to  oppose  Prerogative,  he  was  to  saddle 
his  back  and  invite  Prerogative  to  ride,  how  comfortably  might 
they  both  jog  along;  and,  therefore,  it  delights  me  to  hear  the 
advocates  for  the  royal  bounty  flowing  freely  and  spontaneously, 
and  abundantly  as  Holywell,  in  Wales.'^'  If  the  Crown  grants 
double  the  amount  of  the  revenue  in  pensions,  they  approve  of 
thci)'  royal  master,  for  he  is  the  breath  of  their  nostrils, 

"  But  we  will  find  that  this  complaisance — this  gentleness 
between  the  Crown  and  its  true  servants — is  not  confined  at 
home ;  it  extends  its  influence  to  foreign  powers.  Our  merchants 
have  been  insulted  in  Portugal,  our  commerce  interdicted.  What 
did  the  British  lion  do  ?  Did  he  whet  his  tusks  ?  Did  he  bristle 
up  and  shake  his  mane  ?  Did  he  roar  ?  No,  no  such  thing ;  the 
gentle  creature  wagged  his  tail  for  six  months  at  the  court  of 
Li'^bon ;  and  now  we  hear  from  the  Delphic  oracle  on  the  trea- 
sury bench,  that  he  is  wagging  his  tail  in  London  to  Chevalier 
.Pinto,  who,  he  hopes  soon  to  be  able  to  tell  us,  will  allow  his  lady 
to  entertain  hini  as  a  lap-dog;  and  when  she  does,  no  doubt  the 
British  factory  will  furnish  some  of  their  softest  woollens  to  make 

•  Sii'  Boyle  Roelie,  who  was  a  Ministerialist  and  placeman,  had  opposed  tlie  motion, 
Ea;  !iig  :  "1  would  not  stop  fhv  fuinitaiti  of  royal  favour,  bat  let  it  flow  freely,  simntane- 
oni'ly.  and  abundantly,  as  Hulywell,  in  Wales,  that  turns  so  many  mills.  Indeed,  some 
of  U)0  best  men  have  drank  of  tiiis  fountain,  which  gives  honour  as  well  as  vigour." — M. 


114  Life  of  cuERAif. 

a  cushion  for  liim  to  lie  upon.  But  though  the  gentle  beast  has 
continued  so  long  fawning  and  couching,  I  believe  his  vengeance 
will  be  great  as  it  is  slow,  and  that  that  posterity,  whose  ances- 
tors are  yet  unborn,  will  be  surprised  at  the  vengeance  he  will 
take. 

"  This  polyglot  of  wealth — this  museum  of  curiosities — the 
Pension  List,  embraces  every  link  in  the  human  chain,  every 
description  of  men,  women,  and  children,  from  the  exalted  excel- 
lence of  a  Hawke  or  a  Rodney,  to  the  debased  situation  of  a  lady 
who  humbleth  herself  that  she  may  be  exalted.  But  the  lessons 
it  inculcates  form  its  greatest  perfection.  It  teach cth  that  sloth 
and  vice  may  eat  that  bread  Avhich  virtue  and  honesty  may  starve 
for,  after  they  have  earned  it ;  it  teaches  the  idle  and  dissolute  to 
look  up  for  that  support  which  they  are  too  proud  to  stoop  anfl 
earn ;  it  directs  the  minds  of  men  to  an  entire  reliance  upon  the 
ruling  power  of  the  State,  who  feeds  the  ravens  of  the  royal  aviary 
rhat  cry  continually  for  food;  it  teaches  them  to  imitate  those 
saints  on  the  Pension  List  that  are  like  the  lilies  of  the  field — they 
toil  not,  neither  do  they  spin,  and  yet  are  arrayed  like  Solomon  in 
his  glory :  in  fine,  it  teaches  a  lesson,  which,  indeed,  they  might 
have  learned  from  Epictetus,  that  it  is  sometimes  good  not  to  be 
over-virtuous ;  it  shows  that,  in  proportion  a?  our  distresses 
increase,  the  munificence  of  the  Crown  increases  also — in  pro- 
portion as  our  clothes  are  rent,  the  royal  mantle  is  extended 
over  us. 

"  Notwithstanding  the  Pension  List,  like  charity,  covers  a  multi- 
tude of  sins,  give  me  leave  to  consider  it  as  coming  home  to 
the  members  of  tliis  house ;  give  me  leave  to  say,  that  the  Crown, 
in  extending  its  charity,  its  liberality,  its  profusion,  is  la)-ing 
a  foundation  for  the  independence  of  Parliament;  for,  here- 
after, instead  of  orators  or  patriots  accounting  for  their  con 
duct  to  such  mean  and  unworthy  persons  as  freeholders,  they  will 
learn  to  despise  them,  and  look  to  the  first  man  in  the  State  ;  ar.d 
they  will  by  so  doing  have  this  security  for  their  independeac*, 


PARLIAMENT AUT   STUD.  115 

that  while  any  man  in  the  kingdom  has  a  shilling  they  will  not 
want  one. 

"  Suppose  at  any  future  period  of  time  the  boroughs  of  Ii-fiiaiid 
thould  decline  from  their  present  flourishing  and  prosperous 
state ;  suppose  they  should  fall  into  the  hands  of  men  who  wist 
to  drive  a  profitable  commerce  by  having  members  of  parliamenl 
to  hire  or  let;  in  such  case  a  secretary  would  find  a  great 
difficulty,  if  the  proprietors  of  members  should  enter  into  a  com- 
bination to  form  a  monopoly.  To  prevent  which  in  time,  the 
wisest  way  is  to  purchase  up  the  raw  material,  young  mem- 
bers of  parliament  just  rough  from  the  grass ;  and  when  they 
are  a  little  bitted,  and  he  has  got  a  pretty  stud,  perhaps  of 
seventy,  he  may  laugh  at  the  slave  merchant.  Some  of  them  he 
may  teacli  to  sound  through  the  nose  like  a  barrel  organ : 
some  in  the  course  of  a  few  months  might  be  taught  to  cry, 
Hear  !  hear  !  some.  Chair  !  chair !  upon  occasion  ;  though  these 
latter  might  create  a  little  confusion  if  they  were  to  forget 
whether  they  were  calling  inside  or  outside  of  these  doors. 
Again,  he  might  have  some  so  trained,  that  he  need  only 
pull  a  string,  and  up  gets  a  repeating  member  ;  and  if  they  were 
so  dull  that  they  could  neither  speak  nor  make  orations  (for 
they  are  different  things)  he  might  have  been  taught  to  dance, 
pedibus  ire  in  sententiam.  This  improvement  might  be  extended ; 
he  mio-ht  have  them  dressed  in  coats  and  shirts  all  of  one  colour, 
and  of  a  Sunday  he  might  march  them  to  church,  two  and  two, 
to  the  great  edification  of  the  people,  and  the  honour  of 
the  Christian  religion ;  afterwards,  like  the  ancient  Spartans, 
or  the  fraternity  at  Kilmainham,  they  might  dine  altogether  in  a 
large  hall.  Good  heaven !  what  a  sight  to  see  them  feeding 
in  public,  on  public  viands,  and  talking  of  public  subjects,  for  the 
benefit  of  the  public !'  It  is  a  pity  they  are  not  immortal ; 
but  I  hope  they  will  flourish  as  a  corporation,  and  that  pen- 
sioners will  beget  pensioners  to  the  end  of  the  chapter." 

Mr.  Curran  was  now  (1*786)  in  full  practice  at  the  bar.  It  maybe 


116  LIFE   Oti^  CUKRAN. 

acceptable  to  bear  tbe  manner  be  spoke  himself  of  bis  increasing 
celebrity.  Tbe  following  is  an  extract  from  one  of  bis  private  let- 
ters of  this  period. 

"Patterson,  chief  justice  of  the  common  pleas,  has  been  given 
over  many  days,  but  still  holds  out.  My  good  friend  Carleton 
succeeds  him.  Had  he  got  this  promotion  some  time  ago, 
it  might  have  been  of  use  to  me  ;  for  I  know  be  has  a  friendship 
for  me ;  but  at  present  his  partiality  can  add  little  to  whatever 
advantage  I  can  derive  from  his  leaving  about  four  thousand 
a  year  at  the  bar. 

"  I  understand  they  have  been  puffing  me  oflF  to  you  from  this 
(Dublin).  I  have  been  indeed  very  much  employed  this  term,  and  I 
fmd  I  have  the  merit  imputed  to  me  of  changing  a  determination 
which  the  Chancellor  [Lord  LifFord]  bad  formed  against  Bur- 
roughs,* a  few  days  ago.  He  has  really  been  uncommonly  kird 
and  polite  to  me.  This,  I  believe,  is  the  first  time  I  ever  became 
my  own  panegyrist,  therefore  excuse  it :  I  should  scarcely  men- 
tion it  for  any  vanity  of  mine,  if  it  were  not  of  some  little  value 
to  others;  tot  it  up,  therefore,  on  the  table  of  pence,  not  on 
tbe  scale  of  vain  glory." 

His  life  at  this  time  was  passed  in  a  uniform  succession  of  the  same 
Occupations,  his  professional  and  parliamentary  duties.  The  intervals 
of  business  he  generally  spent  at  Newmarket,  where  he  had  taken  a 
few  acres  of  land,  and  built  a  house,  to  which  he  gave  the  name  of 
tbe  Priory,  as  the  residence  of  tbe  Prior  of  the  Order  of  St.  Patrick. 
In  Dublin  tbe  reputation  of  bis  talents  and  his  convivial  powers 
introduced  him  to  every  circle  to  which  he  could  desire  to  have 
access  ;  in  the  country  he  entered  into  all  tbe  sports  and  manners  of 
his  less  polished  neighbours,  with  as  much  ardour  as  if  it  was  vsdth 
them  alone  that  he  had  passed  and  was  to  pass  his  davs.  The  ordi- 
nary routine  of  his  profession,  took  him  twice  every  year  to  Mu:a- 

•  Sir  William  Burroughs,  Bart.,  afterwards  one  of  the  Judges  of  the  supreme  court  of 
judicature  at  Calcutta.  The  cause  to  which  Mr.  Curran's  letter  alludes  was  that  of  New- 
berg  and  Burroughs  ;  by  his  exertions  in  whicJ'  he  had  acquired  a  considerable  acces* 
sion  to  fame. — C. 


"at  home."  117 

Bter  ;*  and  among  the  many  attractions  of  that  Circuit,  he  always 
considered,  as  one  of  the  greatest,  the  frequent  opportunities  it.ga\e 
him  of  visiting  and  spending  some  happy  hours  with  two  of  Lis  old- 
est and  dearest  friends  (once  his  college  fellow-students),  the  Rgv. 
Thouuis  Crawford,  of  Lismore,  and  the  Rev.  Richard  Car}',  of  Clon- 
mel ;  both  of  them  persons  unknown  to  fame,  but  both  so  estimable, 
as  men,  and  scholars,  and  companions,  that  his  taste  and  affections 
were  perpetually  recalling  him  to  the  charms  of  their  society. 

At  may  not  be  a  very  dignified  circumstance  in  his  history,  yet 
it  must  be  mentioned  that  his  arrival  at  Newmarket  was  always 
considered  there  as  a  most  important  event.  Gibbon  somewhere 
observes  that  one  of  the  liveliest  pleasures  which  the  pride  of  man 
can  enjoy,  is  to  reappear  in  a  more  splendid  condition  among 
those  who  had  known  him  in  his  obscurity.      If  Mr.   Curran  had 

»  Upon  one  of  these  journeys,  and  about  Uii3  period,  as  Mr.  Curran  was  travelling 
upon  an  unfrequented  road,  he  perceived  a  man  in  a  soldier's  dress,  sitting  by  the  road- 
side, and  apparently  much  exhausted  by  fatigue  and  agitation.  He  invited  him  to  take 
a  seat  in  his  chaise,  and  soon  discovered  that  he  was  a  deserter.  Having  stopped  at  a 
small  inn  for  refreshment,  Mr.  Curran  observed  to  the  soldier,  that  he  had  committed  an 
oSfenco  of  which  the  penalty  was  death,  and  that  his  chance  of  escaping  it  was  but 
small :  "  Tell  me  t;-.en,"  continued  he,  "  whether  you  feel  disposed  to  pass  the  little  rcym- 
nant  of  life  tliat  is  left  you  in  penitence  and  fasting,  or  whetiier  you  would  prefer  to 
drown  your  sorrow  in  a  merry  glass?"  The  following  is  the  deserter's  answer,  which 
Mr   Cunan,  in  coniiiosing  it,  adapted  to  a  plaintive  Irish  air : 

Tf  Badly  thinking,  with  spirits  sinking. 

Could  more  than  drinking  my  cares  compose, 
A  cure  for  sorrow  from  sighs  I  'd  borrow, 

jvnd  hope  lo-uiorrow  would  end  my  woes. 
But  as  in  wailing  there  'a  nsiught  availing, 

And  Death  unfailirg  will  strike  the  blow, 
Then  for  that  reason,  and  for  a  season, 

Let  us  be  merry  before  we  go  ! 

To  ji'y  a  stranger,  a  wt.y-worn  ranger, 

In  every  danger  my  course  I  've  run  ; 
Now  hope  all  ending,  and  Death  befriending, 

His  last  aid  lending,  my  cares  are  done : 
No  more  a  rover,  or  hapless  lover, 

My  griefs  are  over,  and  my  glass  runs  low ; 
Then  for  that  reason,  and  for  a  season, 

Let  us  be  merry  before  we  jro  1 


118  LIFE   OF   CUKSAJT. 

been  proud,  he  miglit  have  enjoyed  this  pleasure  to  the  fiill. 
Upon  the  occasion  of  every  return  to  the  scene  of  childhood, 
visits  and  congratulations  upon  his  increasing  fame  poured  in 
upon  "  the  couu  sellor  "  from  every  side.  "  His  visitors"  (accord- 
ing to  his  own  description)  "  were  of  each  sex  and  of  every  rank, 
and  their  greetings  were  of  as  many  kinds.  Some  were  delivered 
in  English,  and  some  in  Irish,  and  some  in  a  language  that  was  a 
sort  of  a  compromise  between  the  two — some  were  communicated 
verbally — some  by  letter  or  by  deputy,  the  absentees  being  just  at 
that  moment  '  in  trouble,'  which  generally  meant,  having  been 
lately  committed  for  some  'unintentional'  misdemeanour,  from 
the  consequences  of  which,  who  could  extricate  them  so  success- 
fully as  '  the  counsellor  V  some  came  in  prose — some  in  all  the 
pomp  of  verse ;  for  Mr.  O'Connor,  the  roving  bard  (of  whom  Mr. 
Curran  used  to  say,  that  if  his  imagination  could  have  carried 
him  as  far  as  his  legs  did,  he  would  have  been  the  most  astonish- 
ing poet  of  the  age),,  was  never  absent ;  at  whatever  stage  of  their 
poetical  circuit  he  and  his  itinerant  muse  might  be,  the  moment 
certain  intelligence  reached  them  that  the  master  of  the  Priory 
had  arrived,  they  instantly  took  a  short  cut  across  the  country, 
and  laid  their  periodical  offering  at  the  feet  of  him  whose  high 
fortune  they  had  of  course  been  the  first  to  predict." 

All  these  petty  honours  gratified  his  heart,  if  not  his  pride,  and 
he  never  fastidiously  rejected  them.  Those  who  came  from  the 
mere  ambition  of  a  personal  interview,  he  sent  away  glorying  in 
their  reception,  and  delighted  with  his  condescension  and  urbanity ; 
to  those  who  seemed  inclined  "  to  carry  away  anything  rather  than 
an  appetite,"  he  gave  a  dinner.  The  village  disturber  of  the 
peace  had  once  more  a  promise  that  his  rescue  should  be  i^ected 
at  the  ensuing  assizes,  while  the  needy  laureat  seldom  failed  to  receive 
the  "  crovM^''  which  he  had  "  long  preferred  to  the  freshest  laurels."* 


•  The  poetry  of  the  roving  bard  has  by  some  accident  perished ;  but  his  name  Is  pre- 
served in  a  short  and  unambitious  specimen  of  his  favourite  art.  His  muse  at  one  time 
became  so  importunate,  that  Mr.  Curran  found  it  necessary  to  discourage  her  addresses; 


THE   BAKDLING.  119 

[During  the  Session  of  1787,  Mr.  Curran  constantly  attended 
to  his  parliamentary  duties.      At   the    commencement   of  ih^ 

Instead  therefore  of  rewarding  one  of  her  efifusions  with  the  expected  donation,  he  btut 
the  bard  the  following  impromptu  :  * 

A  collier  once  in  days  of  yore, 

From  famed  Newcastle's  mines,  a  store 

Of  coals  had  rais'd  and  with  the  load 

He  straightway  took  Whitehaven  road; 

When  thither  come,  he  looli'd  around, 

And  soon  a  ready  chap  he  found  ; 

But  after  all  his  toil  and  pain, 

He  measured  out  his  coals  in  vain, 

For  he  got  naught  but  coals  again. 

Thus  Curran  takes  O'Connor's  lays, 

And  with  a  verse  the  verse  repays ; 

Not  VArse  indeed  as  good  as  thine. 

Nor  rais'd  froui  such  a  genuine  mine  ; 

But  Were  it  better,  't  were  in  vain 

To  emulate  O'Connor's  strain. 

Then  take,  my  friend — and  freely  take, 

The  verses  for  the  poet's  sake  : 

Vet  one  advice  from  me  receive, 

*■!'  will  many  vain  vexations  save ; 

Should,  by  strange  chance,  your  muse  grow  poor, 

Bid  ht-r  ne'er  seek  a  poet's  door. 

The  disappointed  bard  retoi'ted  :  and  his  concluding  verse, 

If  you  're  paid  such  coin  for  your  lawj 
You  'U  ne'er  be  worth  a  single  straw, 

was  felt  to  contain  so  Important  and  undeniable  a  truth,  tliat  his  solicitations  could  be 
no  longer  resisted.  These  are  trifles;  but  the  subject  of  these  pages  gladly  sought 
relief  in  them,  when  satiated  with  more  splendid  cares. 

Mr.  Curran  composed  two  other  little  poems,  of  a  different  description,  about  this  time. 
The  first  of  the  following  has  buen  praised,  as  possessing  peculiar  ueiu;acy  of  thought,  bj 
the  most  admired  poet  that  Ireland  iias  ever  produced. 

ON  RETURNING  A  RING  TO  A  LAl/i. 

Thou  emblem  of  faith — thou  sweet  pledge  of  a  pai^ion, 

By  heaven  reserved  for  a  happier  than  me — 
On  the  hand  of  my  fair  go  resume  tliy  loved  station. 

Go  back  in  the  beam  that  is  lavish'd  on  thee  I 
And  if,  some  past  scene  thy  remembrance  recalling, 
Her  bosom  shall  rise  to  tlie  tear  that  is  falling, 
With  the  transport  of  love  may  no  anguish  combine, 
Sut  be  furs  all  the  bliss — and  the  sufferings  all  mine. 


120 


LIFE    OF    UUKKAjVf. 


Session  of  1786,  and  again  in  1*787,  the  Viceroy's  speech  alliided 
10  tlie  disturbances  in  the  Soutli  of  Ii-eland.  On  the  latter  occa- 
sion, a  vehement  debate  arose  on  the  address  in  reply  to  the 
^ceregal  missive,  and  Curran  delivered  a  speech  which  Davis 
calls  "  one  of  his  best  in  parliament."     The  government  party 

Yet  say  (to  thy  mistress  ere  yet  I  restore  thee). 

Oh  say  why  thy  charm  so  indifferent  to  me? 
To  lier  thou  art  deal  — tlien  should  I  not  adore  thee? 

Can  the  heart  that  is  hers  be  regardless  of  thee? 
But  the  eyes  of  a  lover,  a  friend,  or  a  brother, 
Can  see  naught  in  thee,  but  the  flame  of  another; 
On  me  then  thou  'rt  lost ;  as  thou  never  couldst  prove 
The  emblem  of  faith  or  the  token  of  love. 

But,  ah  !  had  the  ringlet  thou  lov's'  ti  surround — 

Had  it  e'er  kiss'd  the  rose  on  the  chee      "  my  dear, 
What  ransom  to  buy  thee  could  ever  be  found, 

Or  what  force  from  my  heart  thy  possession  could  tear  ' 
A  mourner,  a  suff'rer,  a  wanderer,  a  stranger — 
In  sickness,  in  sadness,  in  pain,  and  in  danger, 
Next  my  heart  thou  shouldst  dwell  till  its  last  gasp  were  "'er— 
Then  together  we  M  sink— and  I  'd  part  thee  no  more. 

ON  MRS.  BILLINGTON'S  BIRTH-DAY. 

The  wreath  of  love  and  friendship  twine, 

And  deck  it  round  with  flow'rets  gay — 
Tip  the  lip  with  rosy  wine, 

'T  is  fair  Eliza's  natal  day ! 

Old  Time  restrains  his  ruthless  hand, 

And  learns  one  favourite  form  to  spare; 
Liffht  o'er  her  tread,  by  his  command, 

The  Hours,  nor  print  one  footstep  there. 

In  amorcvs  sport  the  purple  Spring 

Salutes  her  lips,  in  roses  drest; 
And  Winter  laughs,  and  loves  to  tling 

A  flake  of  snow  upon  her  breast. 

So  may  thy  days,  in  happiest  pace, 

Divine  Eliza,  glide  along! 
Unclouded  as  thy  angel  face, 

And  T^eet  as  thy  celestial  song. 


PAKLIAMKNTAEY    LIFE.  121 

declared    tliat   the    disturbance   almost  exclusively   consisted  of 
resistance  to  the  clergy  {i.  e.,  to  tithes),  and  accused  the  landlords 
of   o-rindiud-   the    people   and    abetting    the    disturbances,    and 
demanded    ft-esh    powers.      Fitzgibbon,    then    Attorney-General, 
speaking  of  his  general  knowledge  of  the  Province  of  Munster, 
said,   "  I  know  it  is  impossible  for  human  wretchedness   to  exceed 
that  of  the  miserable  peasantry  in  that  province.      I  know  that  the 
unhappy  tenants  are  ground  to  powder  by  relentless  landlords^ 
The  Address  was  an  echo  of  the  viceregal  speech,  and  Curran 
moved  an  amendment  to  it,  to  the  effect  that  the  ordinary  powers 
of  the  law   were   fully  adequate,  if  duly  exerted,  to  punish  and 
restrain  the  excesses  complained  of,  and  also,  that  it  was  necessary 
to  reduce  the  burthens  of  the  people  by  every  honorable  mode  of 
retrenchment.     In  proposing  tliis,  Curran  entered  fully  into  the 
causes  of  the  general  distress  which  had  produced   partial   dis- 
turbances.    "  Unbound  to  the  sovereign  by  any  proof  his  affec- 
tion, unbound  to  government  by  any  instance  of  its  protection, 
unbound  to  the  country,  or  to  the  soil,  by  being  destitute  of  any 
property  in  it,  'tis  no  wonder  that  the  peasantry  should  be  up  for 
rebellion  and  revolt;  so  far  from  being  matter  of  surprise,  it  must 
naturally  have  been  expected."     Another  passage  is  very  good : 
• — "  I  have  read  the  history  of  other  nations,  and  I  have  read  the 
Instory  of  yours.     I  have  seen  how  happily  you  emerged  from 
insignificance,  and  obtained  your  Constitution.     But  when  you 
waslied  this  Constitution  with  the  waters  which  were  to  render  it 
invulnerable,  like   the  mother  of   Achilles,  you  forgot  that  the 
part  by  which  you  held  it  was  untouched  on  the  immersion ;  it 
was  benumbed,  and  not  rendered  invulnerable,  and  therefore  it 
should  attract  your  nicest  care." 

On  January  23d,  1787,  again  alluding  to  the  disturbances,  Mr. 
Curran  said,  "  The  low  and  contemptible  state  of  your  magistracy 
is  the  cause  of  much  evil,  particularly  in  the  Kingdom  of  Kerry. 
I  say  Kinsfdom,  for  it  seems  absolutely  not  a  part  of  the  same 
county." 


122  LIFE   OF   CUKRAN. 

In  wtat  was  called  the  Right  Boy  Oath,  there  was  a  clause 
authorizing  magistrates  to  pull  down  Roman  Catholic  Churches  at 
which  combinations  should  be  formed,  or  unlawful  oaths  adminis- 
tered. On  February  19th,  1787,  on  the  motion  for  the  committal 
of  the  bill,  this  clause  was  objected  to,  and,  though  not  insisted 
on,  was  strongly  defended  by  the  Attorney-General,  Fitzgibbon. 
Mr.  Curran  declared  that  such  an  act  would  be  a  proclamaf  -:■ 
of  a  religious  war  in  Ireland. 

On  the  following  day,  on  the  motion  that  the  application  of 
the  bill  be  limited  to  Cork,  Kerry,  Limerick  ard  Tipperary,  Mr. 
Curran  supported  the  limitation — which  was  lost  by  a  large 
majority. 

On  March  the  12th,  1787,  on  the  renewal  of  the  lost  bill  for 
limiting  pensions,  Mr.  Curran  again  supported  it ;  on  the  follow- 
ing day  he  spoke  in  favour  of  a  resolution  moved  by  Mr.  Grattan, 
that,  if  tranquillity  were  restored  at  the  next  opening  of  the  Session, 
the  House  would  consider  the  tithe  question.  Speaking  of  the 
Protestant  clergy,  he  said,  "  I  will  never  hear  of  any  attempt  to 
injure  their  legal  rights.  I  love  their  religion  ;  there  is  only  one 
religion  under  Heaven  which  I  love  more  than  the  Protestant,  but 
I  confess  there  is  one — the  Christian  religion."  Grattan's  motion 
was  lost,  without  a  division. 

It  was  sought  to  introduce  into  Ireland,  the  English  Navi- 
gation Law,  originated  by  Cromwell,  in  1650,  and  carried  out  by 
12th  Charles  II.,  c.  18.  The  Dublin  merchants  petitioned  against 
it.  Fitzgibbon  insulted  their  petition,  Grattan  moved  an  amended 
clause  (not  carried)  that  the  act  should  bind  Ireland,  only  while 
the  benefits  and  restraints  of  it  were  equal  in  the  two  countries. 
He  was  supported  by  Mr.  Curran,  who  said  that  the  Navigation 
Act  was  founded  on  principles  of  imperial  monopoly — to  depress 
the  rivals  of  Great  Britain,  and  to  advance  the  power  of  the  navy. 
To  accept  it  would  be  to  deprive  Ireland  of  a  great  commercial 
right.] 

In  the  year  1787  Mr.  Curran  visited  France,  a  country  for  whose 


VISIT   TO   FRANCE.  123 

L'terature  and  manners  he  had  had  a  very  ea'-ly  predilection.  The 
following  letters  give  an  account  of  its  first  ir^.prf-ssion  on  him ; 
and,  however  carelessly  written,  their  insertion  will  he  at  least 
^5ome  relief  to  the  harsher  scenes  of  political  contention,  which 
occupy  so  much  of  his  future  history. 

Dieppe,  Friday,  August  S^st,  178''. 

"  My  last  from  Brighton  told  you  I  was  setting  sail — I  did  so 
about  eight  3'clock  yesterday  evening,  and  after  a  pleasant  voyage, 
landed  here  this  day  at  twelve.  To-morrow  I  set  out  for  Rouen, 
where  I  shall  probably  remain  two  or  three  days. 

"  I  cannot  say  the  first  view  of  France  has  made  a  very  favour- 
able impression  on  me.  I  am  now  writing  in  the  best  lodging- 
room  in  the  best  inn  of  Dieppe,  I'hotel  de  la  Ville  de  Londres. 
Monsieur  de  la  Rue,  the  host,  danced  up  to  me  on  board  the 
packet,  did  everything  I  wanted,  and  offered  a  thousand  services 
that  I  had  no  occasion  for.  I  mounted  to  my  present  apartment 
by  a  flight  of  very  awkward  stairs ;  the  steps,  some  of  brick,  some 
of  wood,  but  most  of  both.  The  room  contains  two  old  fantastical 
chests  of  drawers;  a  table,  on  which  I  new  write;  four  chairs, 
with  cane  backs  and  bottoms ;  and  a  bed,  five  feet  from  the  bricks 
that  compose  the  floor  (the  first  floor);  the  walls  half  covered 
with  lime  and  half  with  a  miserable  tapestry.  I  dined  very  well, 
however,  on  a  small  fish  like  a  trout,  a  beefsteak,  and  a  bottle  of 
Burgundy,  which  the  maid  that  attended  me  would  not  admit  to 
be  '  chevalier.' 

"I  then  walked  out  to  see  the  town,  and,  God  knows,  a  sad 
sight  it  is :  it  seems  to  have  been  once  bette  r,  but  it  is  now 
strength  fallen  into  ruin,  and  finery  sunk  into  decay.  It  smote 
me  with  a  natural  sentiment  of  the  mortality  of  all  liuman  things; 
and  I  was  led  by  an  easy  transition  to  inquire  for  the  churches. 
I  inquired  of  a  decent-looking  man,  who  sat  at  a  door,  knitting 
stockings,  and  he,  with  great  cixility,  stopped  his  needles,  and 
directed  me  to  the  church  of  St.  Jacques,  having  first  told  me  tow 
fine  it  was,  and  how  many  years  it  was  built.     It  has  a  profusion 


124  LLJE   OF   GIJERAN. 


» 


of'  sculptuve  in  it,  and,  I  susj)ect,  not  of  the  best  kind  ;  however, 
the  solemnity  of  the  whole  made  amends,  and  indeed,  I  think, 
well  might,  for  that  deficiency,  to  me  who  am  so  littlo  a  connois- 
seur in  the  mfitter.  I  could  not  but  respect  the  disinterestedness 
and  piety  of  our  ancestors,  who  laboured  so  much  to  teach  pos- 
tft-ity  the  mortality  of  man ;  and  yet,  on  turning  the  idea  a  little, 
I  could  not  but  suspect  that  the  vain-glory  of  the  builders  of  pyra- 
mids and  temples  was  no  small  incentive  to  their  labours ;  why 
else  engrave  the  lessons  of  mortality  in  characters  intended  to 
endure  for  evei-,  and  thus  become  an  exception  to  the  rule  they 
would  establish  ?     But  I  am  turning  preacher  instead  of  traveller. 

"I  reserved  the  view  of  the  inhabitants  for  the  last.  Every 
nation,  'tis  said,  has  a  peculiar  feature.  I  trust  poor  France  shall 
not  be  judged  of,  in  that  point,  by  Dieppe,  I  had  expected  to  see 
something  odd  on  my  arrival,  but  I  own  I  was  unprepared  for 
what  I  met ;  the  day  was  warm,  and,  perhaps,  the  better  sort  of 
people  were  all  within.  Many  hundreds  were  busy  on  the  quays 
and  streets,  but  any  thing  so  squalid,  so  dirty,  and  so  ugly,  I 
really  never  saw.  xlt  some  little  distance,  I  mistook  the  women 
for  sailors,  with  long  boddices,  and  petticoats  not  completely 
covei'ing  their  knees,  which  I  really  took  for  trousers ;  however, 
on  a  nearer  view,  I  saw  their  heads  covered  with  linen  caps,  their 
beards  unshaved,  and  perceived  they  wore  slippers  with  rather 
iiigh  heels;  by  which,  notwithstanding  the  robust  shape  of  their 
legs,  and  their  unusual  strut,  I  ascertained  their  sex  sufficiently  for 
a  traveller. 

"  I  may  say,  truly,  I  did  not  see  a  being  this  day  between  the 
ages  of  fifteen  and  fifty.  I  own  I  was  tlierefore  surprised  to  find 
that  there  were  children;  for  such  I  foind  to  be  a  parcel  of 
str;inge  little  figures;  the  female  ones  with  velvet  hoods,  and  the 
male  with  their  little  curled  lieads  covered  with  woollen  nightcaps, 
regardless  of  the  example  of  their  hardy  old  fathers,  if  they  were 
not  their  grandsires,  who  carried  about  heads  without  a  hair  or  a 
hat  to  2')roteet  them. 

"  In  truth,  I  am  at  a  loss  to  reconcile  so  many  contradictions  as 


FATIIEE    o'lEAKY.  155 

I  have  met  with  here  even  in  a  few  hours.  Even  though  I  should 
not  mention  the  heiglit  of  their  beds,  nor  the  unwieldiness  of  their 
carriao-es,  as  if  the  benefit  of  rest  was  reserved  for  vaulters  and 
rope-dancers,  and  the  indolent  and  helpless  only  were  intended  to 
change  their  place ;  but  perhaps  those  impressions  are  only  the 
first  and  the  mistaken  views  of  a  traveller,  that  ought  to  see  more 
and  reflect  more  before  he  forms  his  opinions.  I  believe  so,  too  \ 
and,  if  I  chano^e  or  correct  them,  the  French  nation  shall  have  the 
benefit  of  my  change  of  opinion.  If  not,  I  hope  my  mistake  will 
not  do  much  injury  to  the  power,  or  riches,  or  vanity  of  his  most 
Chiistian  Majesty. 

"  Yours  ever, 

"J.  P.  C." 

A  few  days  after,  in  a  letter  from  Rouen,  he  says :  "  I  still  f.nd 
myself  confirmed  every  day  in  a  preference  for  my  own  poor 
country.  The  social  turn  of  these  people  certainly  has  the  advan- 
tage; their  manners  are  wonderfully  open  and  pleasant;  but  .still, 
in  everything  T  have  yet  seen,  I  have  observed  a  strange  medley 
of  squalid  finery  and  beggarly  ostentation,  \s\{\\  a  want  of  finishing 
in  every  article  of  buildino-  or  manufacture,  that  marks  them  at 
least  a  century  behind  us.  Yet  have  they  their  pleasant  points : 
gay,  courteous,  temperate,  ill-clothed,  and  ill-accommodated,  they 
?eem  to  have  been  negligent  only  in  what  regarded  themselves, 
and  generously  to  have  laboured  in  what  may  render  them  agree 
able  to  their  visitors." 

As  Mr.  Curran  travelled  on  towards  Paris,  he  received  a  mark 
of  public  attention,  for  which  he  was,  in  a  great  measure,  indebted 
to  his  eloquent  defence  of  the  Roman  Catholic  priest  already 
mentioned.  His  friend,  the  Reverend  Arthur  O'Leary  (more 
generally  called  Father  O'Leary*),  knowing  that  he  was  to  pass 

*  Arthur  O'Loiiry,  born  .11  Cork,  and  erIuc.iU'd  in  Prance,  was  a  Capuchin  friar  of  the 
order  of  St.  Francis.  He  was  a  true  and  tried  patriot,  a  wit  as  well  as  a  humourist,  snd 
a  cleir  'iiaded,  powerful  writer,     in  despair  f'lr  hi-  country,  he  retired  to  Kngland,  and 


126  LIFE   OF   CUBE  AN. 

througli  a  particular  town,  wrote  to  the  superior  of  a  convent  in 
the  neighbourhood,  describing  th".  traveller  that  was  shortly  tv 
arrive  there,  and  requesting  that  so  ardent  a  friend  of  their  reli- 
gion should  be  welcomed  and  entertained  with  all  courtesy  au-,. 
honour.  Mr.  Curran  no  sooner  reached  the  place,  than  ne 
received  a  pressing  invitation  to  take  up  his  abode  at  the  con- 
vent. He  accordingly  proceeded  thither,  and  was  met  at  the 
gates  by  the  abbot  and  his  brethren  in  procession.  The  keys  of 
the  convent  were  presented  to  him,  and  his  arrival  hailed  in  a 
Latin  oration,  setting  forth  his  praises  and  their  gratitude  for  his 
noble  protection  of  a  suffering  brother  of  their  church. 

Their  Latin  was  so  bad,  that  the  stranger,  without  hesitation, 
replied  in  the  same  language.  After  expressing  his  general 
acknowledgments  for  tlieir  hospitality,  he  assured  them  that 
nothing  could  be  more  truly  gratifying  to  him  than  to  reside  for 
a  ^e~y  days  among  them ;  that  he  should  feel  himself  perfectly  at 
home  in  their  society;  for  that  he  was  by  no  means  a  stranger  to 
the  habits  of  a  monastic  life,  being  himself  no  less  than  a  Prior 
of  an  Order  in  his  own  country — the  Order  of  St.  Patrick,  or  the 
Monks  of  the  Screw.  Their  fame,  he  added,  might  never  have 
reached  the  Abbot's  ears,  but  he  would  undertake  to  assert  for 
them,  that,  though  the  brethren  of  other  Orders  might  be  more 
celebrated  for  learning  how  to  die,  the  "  Monks  of  the  Screw " 
were,  as  yet,  unequalled  for  knowing  how  to  live.  As,  however, 
humility  was  their  great  tenet  and  uniform  practice,  he  would 
give  an  example  of  it  upon  the  present  occasion,  and,  instead  of 
accepting  all  the  keys  which  the  Abbot  had  so  liberally  offered, 
would  merely  take  charge,  while  he  stayed,  of  the  key  of  the 
Avine-celiar. 

This  little  playful  sally  was  accepted  in  the  same  spirit  of  good 


for  many  years  was  officiating  clergyman  !n  the  Roman  Catholic  chapel  in  Soho  Square, 
London.  He  died  in  1802.  He  was  an  eminently  social  man.  One  of  his  retorts  has 
been  preserved.  To  a  person  endeavouring  to  dra..-  him  into  a  discussion  about  Purga- 
tory, lie  answered,  "You  may  go  farther,  and  fare  worse." — M. 


P4JR18  m  1787.  127 

humour  with  which  it  was  offered;  and  the  traveller,  after  passing 
two  or  three  days  with  the  Abbot,  and  pleasing  every  one  by  his 
vivacity  and  conciliating  manners,  proceeded  on  his  journey,  not 
without  a  most  pi-essing  invitaaon  to  take  advantage  of  any  future 
occasion  of  re\'isiting  his  friends  at  the  convent. 

The  followino-  is  extracted  from  one  of  his  letters  from  Paris : 

"  Paris,  September  15,  1T8T. 

"  I  have  been  all  about  the  world  with  the  Carletons,*  visiting 
churches,  libraries,  pictures,  operas,  &c.  Yesterday,  we  went  to 
Versailles,  and,  though  a  week-day,  had  the  good  luck  to  see  his 
Majesty!  at  chapel,  after  which  we  went  out  hunting;  after  which 
we  viewed  the  palace,  the  gardens,  statues,  (fee. ;  bought  two  pair 
of  garters  at  a  pedlar's  stall  in  an  ante-chamber  adjoining  the 
great  gallery,  and  so  returned  to  town.  All  that  could  be  seen, 
even  on  a  Sunday,  besides,  would  be  the  Queen,  who  would  proba- 
bly take  very  little  notice  of  her  visitors ;  so  I  shall  probably,  I 
think,  go  no  more  to  Versailles.  Mr.  Boyse]];  is  perfectly  well.  I 
have  written  to  him  this  day.  My  health,  thank  God,  has  been 
perfectly  good  since  I  came  here,  to  which,  I  suppose,  the  temper- 
ance of  this  country  has  contributed  not  a  little.  I  am  early  as 
usual ;  read,  write,  dine,  go  to  the  coffee-house,  the  clay,  as  usual ; 
one  day  now  seems  to  be  the  former,  and  I  begin  to  be  vexed  at 
its  being  the  model  of  the  next.  Perhaps  upon  earth  there  can- 
not be  found  in  one  city  such  a  variety  of  amusements :  if  you 
walk  the  Boulevards  in  the  evening,  you  see  at  least  ten  thousand 
persons  employed  in  picking  the  pockets  of  as  many  millions, 
reckoning  players,  rope-dancers,  jugglers,  buffoons,  bird-sellers, 
bear-dances,  learned  beasts,  (fee.  Yet,  I  begin  to  grow  satiated, 
ani  often  wish  for  a  more  tianquil  habitation." 

Among  tlie  traits  of  French  manners,  which  Mr.  Curran,  upon 

♦  The  family  of  the  late  Lor  J  Carleton,  an  Irish  judge. — M. 

t  Loois  XVI.-  .M. 

%  The  benevolent  clergyman  to  whom  he  chiefly  owed  his  education. — M 


128  LIFE   OF   CtJRRAN. 

his  return,  related  as  Laving  greatly  entertained  him,  was  tli6 
following  little  incident,  which  will  be  also  found  to  be  perfectly 
characteristic  of  his  own. 

He  was  one  evening  sitting  in  a  box,  at  the  French  Opera, 
between  an  Irish  noblewoman,  whom  he  had  accompanied  there, 
and  a  very  young  Parisian  female.  Both  the  ladies  were  pecu- 
liarly interesting  in  their  appearance,  and  very  soon  discovered  a 
strong  inclination  to  converse,  but,  unluckily,  each  was  ignorant 
of  the  other's  language.  To  relieve  their  anxiety,  Mr.  Curran 
volunteered  to  be  their  interpreter,  or,  in  his  own  words,  "to  be 
the,  carrier  of  their  thoughts,  and  accountable  for  their  safe  deli- 
very." They  accepted  the  offei  with  delight,  and  immediately 
commenced  a  vigorous  course  of  observations  and  inquiries  upon 
dress  and  fasiiion,  and  such  commonplace  subjects;  but  their 
interpreter,  betr:iying  his  trust,  changed  and  interpolated  so 
mu('h,  that  the  dialogue  soon  became  purely  his  own  invention. 
He  managed  it,  however,  with  so  much  dexterity,  transmitting 
between  the  parties  so  many  finely-turned  compliments,  and  ele- 
o-ant  repartees,  that  the  unsuspecting  ladies  became  fascinated 
with  each  other.  The  Parisian  demoiselle  was  in  raptures  with 
the  wit  and  colloquial  eloquence  of  milady,  whom  she  declared  to 
be  2iOirfaitement  aimable  ;  while  the  latter  protested  that  she  now, 
for  the  first  time,  felt  the  full  charm  of  French  vivacity.  At 
length,  Avhen  their  mutual  admiration  was  raised  to  its  most  ecsta- 
tic height,  the  wily  interpreter,  in  conveying  some  very  innocent 
question  from  his  countrywoman,  converted  it  into  an  anxious 
demand,  if  she  might  be  favoured  with  a  kiss.  "  Mais  oui,  mon 
Dieu,  oui !"  cried  out  the  animated  gir'  ,  "  j'allois  le  proposer  moi- 
r,,eme;"  and,  springing  across  Mr.  Cur-an,  im.piinted  an  empha- 
tic sakitation,  according  to  the  custom  of  her  courtry,  upon  each 
cheek  of  his'  fair  companion ;  and  then  turning  to  him,  added, 
"  vraiment,  monsieur,  madame  votre  araie  est  un  veritable  ange." 
The  latter  never  discovered  the  deception  ;  but,  after  her  return  to 
Ireland,  used  oftr.n  to  remind  Mr.  Curran  of  the  circumstance,  and 


LETTEK    EKOM    ME.    BOYSE.  129 

ask  "  what  in  the  world  the  young  hady  could  have  meant  by 
such  strange  conduct  ?"  to  which  he  would  only  archly  reply : 
"Come,  come,  your  ladyship  must  know  that  there  is  but  one 
thing  in  the  world  that  it  could  have  meant,  and  the  meaninc-  of 
that  is  so  literal,  that  it  does  not  require  a  commentator." 

The  name  of  Mr.  Boyse  occurred  in  his  last  letter ;  the  friend 
of  his  childhood,  between  whom  and  Mr.  Curran  the  most  cordial 
intercourse  continued,  until  death  dissolved  it.*  The  delicacy  of 
that  gentleman's  health  had  obliged  him  to  reside,  for  several 
years  past,  upon  the  Continent,  from  which  he  regularly  corres- 
Vioiided  with  his  former  pupil.  One  of  his  letters,  written  in  this 
year,  shall  be  inserted,  as  an  example  of  the  kind  and  confidential 
■'eeling  that  pervades  them  all. 

"to  J.  p.  CURKAN,  esq. ELY  PLACE,  DUBLIN. 

"  Bruxelles,  Feb.  7, 1787. 
"Dear  J.ack, 

"  I  hope  my  friend's  afi'aire  are  going  well,  and  liourishing  as 
when  I  left  him. :  mine,  I  suppose,  are  in  the  last  stage  of  con- 
sumption, so  that  I  almost  dread  to  make  inquiry  about  them. 
My  health  has  been  so  good  tbis  winter,  that  I  came  tVora  A;.\ 
here  to  escort  a  Mr.  Low  and  family,  my  relations,  who  are  on 
their  road  to  England  and  Ireland.  To-morrow,  I  return  to  Aix- 
la-Chapelle,  for  the  remainder  of  the  winter.  I  hope  you  wer^ 
paid  the  money  I  drew  on  you  for,  as  I  must  soon  draw  on  you 
again  for  £00.  If  I  have  no  funds  at  Newmarket,  I  shall  \\rite 
tc  Dick  ]3oyse  to  pay  you,  and  shall  always  take  care  that  you 

sball  be  no  suftei-er  bv  me. 

"Let  me  hear  how  you  go  on,  and  what   chance  vou  iiave 

of  the  bench.  I  wish  you  had  lealized  seven  or  eight  hundred  a 
year  for  your  ftimily.  Is  your  health  good,  and  yonr  life  regu- 
lar ?  I  saw  Grattan  and  Fitzg-ibbon  at  Spa;  the  former  friendly 
and  agree  ible,  tlic  latter  disagreeable  to  every  one.     I  dined  with 

•  Mr.  Boyse  died  a  few  years  after  the  date  of  this  letter. — C. 

c* 


130  LIFE   OF   CUKKAN.       , 

him  and  Mr.  Orde,  at  a  club  where  we  are  members,  but  he  was 
solemn  and  displeasing  to  us  all.  My  compliments  to  Grattan 
and  his  wife,  and  ask  him  for  her  on  ray  part ;  she  is  very 
amiable.  What  is  to  become  of  us  with  the  White  Boys  ?  If 
I  am  not  an  absolute  beggar,  I  will  go  home  the  latter  end  of  the 
summer.  How  go  on  all  your  children  ?  An  account  of  yourself 
and  them  will  give  me  pleai,ure.  With  best  wishes  to  you  all, 
"  I  am,  dear  Jack,  yours,  sincerely, 

"  Nat.  BovsE." 

Mr.  Boyse  came  over  to  Ireland  in  the  following  year.     Upon 
the    morning   of  his  arrival    in  Dublin,  as   he  was  on  his  way 
to   Ely   Place,  he   was   met  by  his   friend,  who   was   proceed- 
ing in  great  haste  to  the  Courts,  and  had  only  time  to  wel- 
come  him,  and  bid   him    defer   his  visit   till  the  hour  of  din- 
ner.     Mr.   Curran   invited   a  number   of  the   eminent  men  at 
the  bar  to  meet  Mr.  Boyse ;    and  on  returning  home  at  a  late 
hour  from  court,  with  some  of  his  guests,  found  the  clergyman, 
still  in  his  travelling  dress,  seated  in  a  famiUar  posture  at  the  fire, 
with  a  foot  resting  upon  each  side  of  the  grate.     "  Well,  Jack," 
said  he  turning  round  his  head,  but  never  altering  his  position 
"here  have  I  been  for  this  hour  past,  admiring  all  the  fine  things 
that  1   see   around   me,  and  wondering  where   you  could  have 
got  them  all."     "You  would  not  dare,"   returned  Mr.   Curran, 
deeply  aftected  by  the  recollections  which  the  observation  called 
up,  "  to  assume  such  an  attitude,  or  use  so  little  ceremony,  if  you 
were  not  conscious  that  every  thing  you  see  is  your  own.     Yes, 
ray  first  and  best  of  friends,  it  is  to  you  that  I  am  indebted  for  it 
all.     The  little  boy  whose  mind  you  formed,  and  whose  hopes 
you   animated,   profiting    by    your    instructions,   has    risen    to 
eminence  and  affluence ;  but  the  work  is  yours  ;  what  you  sec  is 
but  the  paltry  stucco  upon  the  building  of  which  yon  laid  the 
foundation."* 

•  Mr.  Pht  lip3  haa  worked  up  this  incident  Into  a  very  dramatic  goen»— but  withoLt 


VISIT   TO    HOLLAND.  131 

[In  1788,  the  Parlianieuf.ary  Reports  only  gave  one  speecli  by 
Mr.  Ciirran.  It  was  on  contraband  trade,  and  bears  date  Febru- 
ary 19,  1788.  It  is  WDt  without  a  touch  of  wit  and  quaintness. 
After  saying  that  high  duties  were  a  premium  to  the  contraband 
trader,  he  continued,  "  The  conduct  of  the  gentlemen  who 
conduct  the  revenue  department  reminds  me  of  a  circumstance 
which  happened  in  our  University  some  time  ago.  The  lads  had 
got  a  custom  of  l»reaking  the  lamps.  For  a  long  time  there  could 
be  found  no  remedy  for  this  grievance,  but  mending  them 
when  broken,  till  at  length  a  very  sagacious  member  of  the  Board 
of  Fellows  hit  upon  a  very  extraordinary  expedient.  '  The  lamj)s,' 
said  he,  '  (;annot  be  well  broken  in  the  daytime  without  imme- 
diate detection,  wherefore  if  they  were  taken  down  at  night- 
fall every  evening,  and  put  up  every  morning,  the  mischief  might 
be  prevented  !'  The  learned  doctor's  argument  has  been  adopted 
by  the  gentlemen  of  the  revenue  :  they  find  that  smuggling  has 
risen  to  a  great  height,  they  then  shut  up  t)ie  ports,  thereby 
making  them  of  no  use."] 

This  year  (1788)  Mr.  Curran  visited  Holland,  from  which  he 
writes  as  follows  • 

"  Helvoktsluys,  August  1, 178S. 

''Just  landed,  after  a  voyage  of  forty-two  hours,  having 
left  Harwich,  Wednesday,  at  six  in  the  evening.  We  are  just 
setting  out  in  a'treckscuit  for  Rotterdam. 

"  I  can  say  little,  even  if  I  had  time,  of  the  first  impres- 
sion that  Holland  makes  on  a  traveller.  The  country  seems  as  if 
it  were  swimming  for  its  life,  so  miserably  low  does  it  appear ; 
and  from  the  little  I  have  seen  of  its  inhabitants,  I  should 
not  feel  myself  much  interested  in  the  event  of  a  struggle.  We 
were  obliged  to  put  up  an  orange  cockade  on  our  entrance.  We 
have  just  dined,  and   I   am   so   disturbed   by  the   settling  the 

Improving  it.     Even  as  related  here  tliere  is  much  coarseness  in  Curran's  telling  the  old 
clergyman,  )  Is  benefactor,  that  he  would  not  dare  to  assume  such  an  attitude,  &o. — M. 


132  LIFE   OF   CCTRRAJf. 

bill,  and  the  disputes  about  guilders  and  stivers,  ci  ).,  that  1  ;n,ist 

con  chide. 

"  Yours  ever, 

"  J.  P.  C." 

"  Amsterdam,  August  5,  liSS. 

"You  can't  expect  to  find  much  entertainment  in  any  let- 
ter from  Holland.  The  subject  must  naturally  oe  as  flat  as 
the  country,  in  which,  literally,  there  is  not  a  single  eminence 
three  inches  above  the  level  of  the  water,  the  greater  part  lying 
much  below  it.  We  met  Mr.  Ilamiay,  a  Scotchman,  on  the  pas- 
sage, who  had  set  out  on  a  similar  errand.  We  joined  accord- 
ingly. A  few  moments  after  my  letter  from  Helvoetsluys  was 
written,  we  set  out  in  a  treckscuit  for  Rotterdam,  where,  after  a 
voyage  of  twenty-four  hours  easy  sail,  we  arrived  without 
any  accident,  notwithstanding  some  struggle  between  an  adverse 
wind  and  tlie  horse  that  drew  us.  We  staid  there  only  one  day, 
and  next  day  set  out  for  the  Hague,  a  most  beautiful  village,  the 
seat  of  the  Prince  of  Orange,  and  the  residence  of  most  of 
the  principal  Dutch.  Yesterday  we  left  it,  and  or.  going  aboard 
found  four  iidiabitants  of  Rouen,  and  acquaintances  of  my 
old  friend  Du  Pont.  We  were  extremely  amused  with  one 
of  them,  a  little  thing  about  four  feet  long,  and  for  the  first  time 
in  his  life  a  traveller.  He  admired  the  abundance  of  the  waters, 
the  beauty  of  the  windmills,  and  the  great  opulence  of  Hoi 
land,  which  he  thought  easy  to  be  accounted  for,  considering 
that  strangers  paid  a  penny  a  mile  for  travelling,  which  was 
double  what  a  French  gentleman  was  obliged  to  pay  at  home  ; 
nor  could  it  otherwise  be  possible  for  so  many  individuals  to 
indulge  in  the  splendor  of  so  many  country  ^^llas  as  we  saw 
I'anged  along  the  banks  of  the  canals,  almost  every  one  of  which 
had  a  garden  and  menagerie  annexed.  The  idea  of  the  menage- 
rie he  caught  at  the  instant  from  a  large  poultry  coop,  vvliich  he 
spied  at  the  front  of  one  of  those  little  boxes,  and  which 
contained  half  a  dozen  turkeys  and  as  many  hens. 


"  The  eveniug,  yesterday,  broug-lit  us  to  Amsterdam.  We  had 
an  interpreter  who  spoke  no  language.  We  knew  not,  un^ei 
heaven,  where  to  go;  spoke  in  vain  to  every  fellow-passenger, 
but  got  nothing  in  return  but  Dutch ;  among  the  rest  to  a  person 
in  whom,  notwithstanding  the  smoke,  I  thought  I  saw  something 
of  Eno'lish.  At  length  he  came  up  to  me,  and  said  he  could  hold 
out  no  lono-er.  He  divectod  us  to  an  inn ;  said  he  some- 
tiujr-s  amused  himself  with  concealing  his  country,  and  <hat 
once  at  Rotterdam  he  carried  on  the  joke  for  five  dayn,  to 
the  great  annoyance  of  sojne  unfortunate  Englishmen,  who 
knew  nobody,  and  dined  every  day  at  the  table  d'hote  he  fre- 
quented. Last  night  w^e  saw  a  French  comedy  and  opera 
toleraoly  performed.  T}:^is  day  we  spent  in  viewing  the  port, 
.stad-house,  ^^c.,  and  shall  depart  to-morrow  for  Rotterdam 
or  Utrecht,  on  our  way  to  Antwerp. 

"  You  cannot  expect  much  observation  from  a  visitor  of  a  day  : 
the  impression,  however,  of  a  stranger,  cannot  be  favourable 
to  the  people.  They  have  a  strange  appearance  of  the  cleanli- 
ness, for  which  they  arc  ftimous,  and  of  the  dirt  that  makes 
it  necessarv  :  their  outsides  only  have  I  seen,  and  I  am  satisfied 
al)undantly  with  tha^  Never  shall  I  vri^h  to  return  to  a  country 
that  is  at  best  drear}'  and  unhealthy,  and  is  no  longer  the  seat  of 
freedom ;  yet  of  its  arbitrariness  I  have  felt  nothing  more  than 
the  necessity  of  wearing  an  orange  riband  in  my  hat.  My  next 
will  be  from  Spa,  where  I  hope  to  be  in  six  or  seven  days  ;  fill 

then  farewell. 

"  Yours  ever, 

"J.  r.  C." 


l84  7IF1E  OF  CmKRAM. 


CHAPTER  YE. 

His  Majestj''s  illness— Communicated  to  the  House  of  Coraraors — Mr  Ci.r'di:.'s  "peech 
upon  the  Address — Regency  question — Formation  of  the  Irish  Whig  opposition — Mr. 
Curran's  speecli  and  motion  upon  the  division  of  the  boards  of  stan.ps  and  accounts — 
Answered  by  Sir  Boyle  Roche — Mr.  Curran's  reply — Correspondence  and  duel  with 
Ma.1or  ITobart — Effects  of  Lord  Clare's  enmity — Alderman  Howison's  case. 

Thk  y3?j  1789  was  in  m^my  respects  one  of  the  most  iuterest- 
ino-  and  important  in  Mr.  Curran's  life.  From  bis  entrance  into 
Parliament  he  had  hitherto  been  chiefly  engaged  in  an  occasional 
desultory  resistance  to  the  Irish  administration,  rather  acting  with, 
than  belonging  to  the  party  in  opposition  ;  but  in  this  ytar  a 
momentous  question  arose,  in  the  progress  and  consequence  of 
which,  there  was  such  a  development  of  the  system  by  which 
Ireland  was  in  future  to  be  governed,  that  he  did  not  hesitate  to 
fix  his  ])olitical  destiny  for  ever,  by  irrevocably  connecting  himself 
with  those  whose  efforts  alone  he  thought  could  save  theh' 
country.  Ilis  late  Majesty's  most  afflicting  indis])Osition  had 
taken  place  towards  the  close  of  the  year  1788.  It  is  known  to 
all  that  upon  the  announcement  of  that  melancholy  event,  the 
British  parliament  proceeded  to  nominate  His  Royal  Highnes^ 
the  Piince  of  Wales  regent,  under  particular  limitations  and 
restrictions ;  a  mode  of  proceeding  which  the  Irish  ministry  were 
peculiarly  anxious  that  the  Irish  parliament  should  studiously 
imitate.  For  this  purpose  great  exertions  were  now  made  to  secure 
a  majority.  To  Mr.  Curran  it  was  communicated  that  his  support  of 
the  government  would  be  rewarded  with  a  judge's  place,  and  with 
the  eventual  prospect  of  a  peerage ;  but  he  wa^  among  those  who 
considered  it  essential  to  the  dignity  of  the  parliament,  and  the 
interests  of  Ireland,  that  the  Heir  Apparent  should  be  invited  by 


THE   REGENCY    QUESTION.  135 

address  to  assume  the  full  ;i;id  unrestricted  exercise  of  tlie  regal 
functions ;  and  fortunately  for  his  fame,  lie  had  too  much  respect 
for  his  duties  and  his  character,  to  sacrifice  them  to  any  con- 
siderations of  personal  advancement. 

The  Irish  administration  had  been  anxious  to  defer  the  meet- 
ing of  the  legislature  until  the  whole  proceedings  respecting  the 
regency  sliould  be  completed  in  England,  in  the  hoj^e  that  the  con- 
duct pursued  by  the  British  parliament  might  be  followed  as  a 
precedent  in  Ireland ;  but  the  urgencies  of  the  public  business  not 
admitting  so  long  a  delay,  the  session  was  opened  on  the  5th  of 
February,  1789,  by  the  Aaceroy  (the  Marquis  of  Buckingham), 
when  the  King's  illness  was  for  the  first  time  announced  to  the 
countiy.*  On  the  following  day,  in  the  debate  on  the  address  of 
thanks,  his  Excellonoy's  late'  conduct  was  made  the  subject  of 
much  severe  animadvei-sion.  Upon  that  occasion  Mr.  Curran 
•  poke  as  follo-;vs : 

"I  oppose  the  addves5,f  as  an  address  of  delay.  I  deeply 
lament  the  public  calamity  of  the  King's  indisposition  :  it  is  not  so 
welcome  a  tale  to  me  as  to  call  for  any  thanks  to  the  messenger 

•  Early  in  17C4,  (the  year  In  which  George  III.  suggested  to  hord  Granville  the  taxa- 
tion of  America,  as  a  grand  financial  measure  for  relieving  the  mother  country  from  the 
heavy  war  oxponses,  wliich  had  chiefly  been  incurred  for  the  security  of  tiie  Colonics;, 
George  III.  was  attacked  by  an  indisposition  of  six  weeks' duration,  which  is  su:;pectel 
to  have  been  similar  in  its  natuie  to,  though  less  in  its  degree  than,  the  malady  whicn 
assailed  him  in  1788-'9,  and  completely  clouded  the  last  ten  years  of  his  life.  It  is  a  well- 
known  fact,  tliat  the  Koyal  Family  of  Knghind  have  a  predisposition  to  iuaanity,  attri- 
buted to  their  in-and-iu  bi'ecding  system,  caused  by  their  marriages  with  other  than  royal 
and  Protestant  houses  being  prohibited  by  law,  which  lasledto  tlieir  union  with  cousins 
and  such  near  relations.  It  has  been  sharply  said,  "'.hat  the  Guelphs  are  divided  into 
only  two  classes, — those  wlio  are  bad,  and  those  who  a^e  mad." — M. 

t  One  of  the  par-vc'-ai''}?  o'  the  address  upon  which  tlie  debate  arose  was  the  following: 
"  We  fe''"'n  ycsr  ex'"*l'«'ncy  sincere  thanks  (lio.vever  we  must  lament  the  necessity  of 
«uch  a  c"'curostance)  for  ordering  tlie  communication  of  such  documents  as  j'ou  liave  re- 
ceived respecting  his  majesty's  healtli,  as  well  as  for  y our  intention  of  laying  before  us  such 
further  information  as  may  assist  our  delibcrRtio".:.s  upon  that  melancholy  event."--C. 

[In  17S2-'8,  Earl  Temple  (subsequently  created  Marijuis  of  Buckingham')  Mras  Lord 
Lieutenant  of  Ireland.  In  December,  1TS7,  he  was  again  appointed  and  he'd  the  office 
for  two  years.] — SI. 


136  LIFE   OF   CUEEAK. 

that  bnno-.s  it.  Instead  of  tlianks  for  commimicatino^  it  nov,  it 
should  be  resented  as  an  outrage  upon  us  that  he  did  not  coinmu- 
nicate  it  before/*  As  to  thanks  for  the  wishes  of  Ireland,  it  is  a 
strange  time  for  the  noble  Marquis  to  call  for  it.  I  do  not  wish 
that  an  untimely  vote  of  approbation  should  mix  with  the  voice 
of  a  people's  lamentation  :  it  is  a  picture  of.  general  mourning,  in 
which  no  man's  vanity  ought  to  be  thrust  in  as  a  figure.  But  if  it 
is  pressed,  what  are  its  pretensions  ?  One  gentleman  (Mr.  Boyd) 
has  lost  hundreds  a  year  by  his  arts,  and  defends  him  on  that 
ground;  another  (Mr.  Corry)  praises  his  econom}' for  increasing 
salaries  in  the  ordnance — the  economy  of  the  noble  lord  is  then 
to  be  proved  only  by  public  or  by  private  losses.  Another  right 
honourable  gentleman  (the  Attorney-General)  has  painted  him  "s 


*  George  III.  had  a  bilious  fever  in  October,  178S.  On  the  24th  of  lhv.i  rnimh,  !iow(-ver, 
he  attended  a  levee,  but,  immediately  after,  exhibited  symptoms  of  insanity.  For  so.i.e 
tim,"  before,  he  had  complained  of  weight  or  pressure  on  the  brp.in,  and  anticipated  how 
it  Woiild  end.  At  a  private  concert,  one  evening,  In  za'il  to  Dr.  Ayrton,  "I  fear,  sir,  I 
iiiiall  not  be  able  long  to  hear  music  ;  it  seems  to  affect  lay  iieao,  an;!  it  is  with  some  diffi- 
culty I  bc.'.r  it.  Alas!  the  best  of  us  are  but  frail  moi'a'.'-'."  The  Kir;.;'.-!  i;l-iess  was  pub- 
licly known  in  November.  Dr.  Warren,  the  regular  pnysl-^ian  to  the  Jloyal  Household, 
had  no  hope  of  his  recovery.  Dr.  Willis,  famous  for  bis  saocsss  in  the  ti'eainrient  of  mad 
people,  declared  that  the  malady  would  be  of  short  durat'on.  Charles  Fox  and  the  Op- 
position held  on  by  AVarren's  prognostication.  Williari.  Pitt,  and  the  ministerial  party 
confided  It.  the  opinion  of  Willis.  It  was  generally  admitted  that  a  Regency  was  indis- 
pensable, and  that  the  Prince  of  Wales  (afterwards  George  IV.)  ""as  the  proper  pcrso::, 
as  his  heif-apparrnt,  to  be  a!>pointed.  Then  came  the  dispute  as  to  the  desrrce  of  power 
which,  as  t'.ie  l\ii  g's  representative,  the  Regent  should  exercise.  Fox  contended  that  he 
should  have  th^  roj'al  authority  in  as  much  plenitude  as  the  Sovereign  hiuis-'lf.  Pitt  ad- 
vocat?d  the  necessity  and  legality  of  imposing  various  restrictions  upon  his  authority. 
Pitt's  proposition  was  carried,  and  the  bill  had  riyiched  its  last  stage,  in  th?  English  Par- 
liament, when  the  King  suddenly  recovtrea-— in  consequence,  it  is  said,  of  llr.  Willis  hav- 
ing calmed  him  by  sleep,  brought  on  by  t'oi  use  of  a  pillow  stuffed  with  hops.  Mean- 
while, the  Iiish  Parliament  had  hastily  tar  ied  a  measure  giving  an  unrestricted  Regency 
to  the  Prince  of  Wales.  I'he  Ticvoy,  having  refused  to  transmit  tlieir  resolutions  to 
l.onrion,  a  deputation  fioiii  the  Iriin  Lords  and  Commons  was  despatched  with  them, 
and  made  such  good  speyd  as  to  arrive  in  London  a  week  after  the  king's  convalescence 
was  announced  !  In  one  of  the  stages  of  the  King's  malady,  it  was  announced  in  one  of 
the  bulletins  of  health,  that  his  Majesty  had  been  so  far  recovered,  as  to  be  able  to  take 
the  air  on  horseback.  "Then,"  said  Curran,  "  all  this  work  about  appointing  a  Regent 
is  gone  lor  nothing.  What  iiappiness  will  be  diffused  among  his  Majesty's  subjects,  when 
they  leai'n  that  he  is  now  able  tota/ce  the  reins."— il. 


THE   EEGENCT    QUESTION.  137 

a  man  of  uncoutli  manners,  much  addicted  to  vulgar  aritlimetic, 
and  therefore  enritled  to  praise.  But  what  have  his  calculations 
done  ?  They  have  discovered  that  a  dismounted  trooper  may  be 
stript  of  his  bjots,  as  a  public  saving,  or  that  a  mutilated  veteran 
might  be  plundered  of  half  the  pittance  of  his  coals,  as  a  stop- 
page for  tliat  wooden  'eg,  which  perhaps  the  humane  marquis 
might  consider  as  the  nio&t  proper  fuel  to  keep  others  warm. 

"  But  a  learned  gentleroiin  (Mr.  Wolfe)*  has  defended  the  para- 
graph, as  in  fact  meaning  nothing  at  all.  I  confess  I  find  the 
appeal  to  the  compassion  of  the  puplic  stronger  than  that  to  their 
justice.  I  feel  for  tlie  reverses  of  human  fate.  I  remember  this 
very  supplicant  for  a  compliment,  to  which  he  pretends  only 
because  it  is  no  compliment,  drawn  into  this  city  by  the  people, 
harnessed  to  his  chariot,  through  streets  blazing  with  illumination  ; 
and  now,  after  more  than  a  years  labour  at  computation,  he  has 
hazarded  o".  a  paragraph  stating  no  one  act  of  private  or  of  pub- 
lic good  ;  supporte<l  by  no  man  that  says  he  loves  him ;  defended, 
not  by  an  assertion  of  his  merit,  but  by  an  extenuation  of  his 
delinquency. 

"For  my  part  I  am  but  little  averse  to  accede  to  the  sentment 
of  an  honourable  friend  w^ho  observed,  that  he  was  soon  to  I;-!ve 
us,  and  that  it  was  harsh  to  I'cfuse  him  even  a  smaller  civility  than 
every  predcutessor  for  a  century  had  got.  As  for  me,  1  do  not 
oppose  his  being  borne  away  from  us  in  a  common  hearse  of  his 
j)olitical  ancestors;  I  do  not  wish  to  pluck  a  single  faded  ]ih;me 
from  the  canopy,  nor  a  single  rag  of  velvet  that  might  flutter  on 
the  pall.  Let  us  excuse  his  manners,  if  he  could  not  helj)  them; 
let  us  pass  b\-  a  little  peculation,  since,  as  an  honourable  member 
fays,  it  was  jbr  his  brother;  and  let  us  rejoice  that  his  kindred 
were  not  more  numerous.  But  I  cannot  agree  with  my  learned 
friend  who  defends  the  conduct  of  the  noble  lord,  on  the  present 
occasion.  The  Viceroy  here,  under  a  party  that  had  taken  a  pecu- 
liar line  in  Great  Britain,  should  not  have  availed  himpelf  of  his 
trust  to  forward  any  of  theii'  measures :  he  should  have  considered 

•  Mr.  Pill  WHS  tlio  paitf  thus  tefeired  to.— M. 


138  LIFE   OF   CUKRAN. 

himself  bound  by  duty  and  by  delicacy  to  give  tlie  people  the 
earliest  notice  of  their  situation,  and  to  have  religiously  ab^itained 
from  any  act  that  could  add  to  the  power  of  his  party,  or  embar- 
rass any  administration  that  might  succeed  him.  Instead  of  that, 
he  abused  his  trust  by  proroguing  the  t'wo  Houses,  and  has  dis- 
posed of  every  office  that  became  vacant  in  the  interval,  besides 
reviving  others  thai  had  been  dormant  fbi  years.  Yet  the  honour- 
able member  says  he  acted  the  part  of  a  faithful  stew/ivd.  1 
know  not  Avhat  the  honourable  member's  idea  of  a  good  steward  is; 
I  will  tell  mine.  A  good  steward,  if  his  master  was  visited  by 
infirmity  or  by  death,  would  secure  every  article  of  his  effects  for 
his  heii  ;  he  would  enter  into  no  conspiracy  with  his  tenants ;  he 
would  remember  his  benefactor,  and  not  forget  his  interest.  I 
will  also  tell  my  idea  of  a  faithless,  unprincipled  ste-.\'ard.  He 
would  avail  himself  of  the  moment  of  family  distractioTi ;  while 
the  filial  piety  of  the  son  was  attending  the  sick  bed  of  the 
father,  or  mourning  over  his  grave,  the  faithless  steward  would 
turn  the  melancholy  interval  to  his  private  profit;  he  would 
remember  his  own  interest,  and  forget  his  benefactoi-,  he  would 
endeavour  to  obliterate  or  conceal  the  title  deeds ;  to  piomote 
cabals  among  the  tenants  of  the  estate,  he  would  load  it  with 
fictitious  incunnbrances;  he  would  reduce  it  to  a  wreck,  in  order 
to  leave  the  lilundered  heir  no  resource  from  beggary  except  con- 
tuiuing-  him  in  a  trust  which  he  had  been  vile  enough  to  betray. 
I  shall  not  appropriate  either  of  these  portraits  to  any  man  :  I  hope 
most  earnestly  that  no  man  may  be  found  in  the  community, 
whose  conscience  would  acknowledge  the  resemblance  of  the 
latter.*  _ 

"  I  do  not  think  the  pitiful  compliment  in  the  address  worthy 
a  debate  or  a  division  ;  if  any  gentleman  has  a  mind  to  stigma  ■ 
tize  the  object  of  it  by  a  poor,  hereditary,  unmeaning,  unmerited 
panegyi'ic,  let  it  pass ;  but  I  cannot  consent  to  a  delay  at  once  so 
dangerous  and  so  disgraceful." 

Tie  opposition  proved  upb'n  this  occasion  the  stronger  party; 

*  Afterwards  Lord  Kilwarden.— M. 


PAKLIAilENTAKY   TACTICS. 


139 


Mr.  Grattan's  proposal  that  the  11th  of  February  should  be 
fixed  for  takinir  into  consideration  the  state  of  the  nation 
'vas  carried,  against  the  exertions  of  the  ministry  to  post- 
pone that  important  discussion  to  a  more  distant  day.  On 
the  11th  accordingly  both  Houses  met;  when,  upon  the  motion  of 
Mr.  G  rati  an  in  the  one,  and  of  Lord  Charlemont  in  the 
other,  the  address  to  the  Prince  of  Wales,  requosting  his 
royal  highness  to  take  upon  himself  the  ge,vernment  of  Ire- 
land, with  the  style  and  title  of  Prince  Regent,  and  in  the  name 
and  behalf  of  his  majesty,  to  exercise  all  regal  functions  during 
his  majesty's  indisposition,  was  carried  by  large  majorities  in 
both  houses.*' 

The  particulars  of  tiie  debate  in  the  House  of  Commons  upon 
this  interesting  subject,  in  which  Mr.  Curran  bore  a  distinguished 
part,  it  would  be  superfluous  to  detail  in  this  place,  as  the 
legislative  union  has  for  ever  prevented  the  recurrence  of  s.ich 
a  question ;  it  will  be  sufficient  merely  to  observe,  that  the 
Whig  majority  who  planned  and  carried  the  measure  of  an 
address  were  influenf^ed  by  two  leading  considerations.f  In  the 
first  place  it  seemed  tn  them  that  the  proceeding  by  an  address 
was  the  only  one  which  would  not  ccmj^romise  the  independence 
of  the  Irish  Parliament.  They  conceived  the  present  situation  of 
Ireland  as  similar  in  miiny  respects  to  that  cf  England  at  the 
period  of  the  rovnlulinn  :  the  throne,  indeed,  was  not  a-.-tu'illy 
vacant,  but   an  ethcient  executive  was  wanting  ;    and  u]-)on   ilie 

*  Pitt's  plan  was  that  tlic  Prince  Re);ent  shouln  not  have  the  powei'  of  making  peers, 
of  granting  offices  or  jiensions,  save  during  royal  pleasure,  or  of  making  leases,  or  of 
liaving  the  care  of  the  King's  person,  or  of  administering,  save  in  the  King's  name. 
Protesting  against  tlitm,  the  Prince  of  Wales  had^accepted  them  from  the  English  Par- 
liament. In  Ireland,  the  legislative  resolution  was  that  the  Regent  should  exercis^  and 
administer  "  all  regal  powers,  jurisdiction,  and  prerogatives"  belonging  to  tl  '.  Crown. 
In  1811,  when  the  Prince  of  Wales  reallj'  became  Regent,  it  was  under  the  resi'ict'O'JS  of 
17*9— which,  liortever,  were  to  cease  at  the  end  of  twelve  months.— M. 

t  The  resolution  ^giving  unrestricted  power  to  the  Regent)  was  moved  by  Mr.  Thomas 
Conolly,  supported  by  C.  F.  Sheridan,  Lord  Henry  Fitzgerald,  Sir  Henry  Cavendish,  Car- 
ran,  Bushe,  and  Qrattan,  opposed  by  Hobart,  Corry,  and  Attorney-General  Fitifibboa 
(afterwards  Lord  Clare),  aad  carried  without  a  division. — M. 


140  LIFE   or   CURKA]^. 

same  principle  tLat  the  two  houses  Jn  Knglaod  Lad,  of  their  owii 
authority,  proceeded  to  supply  the  vacancy  by  the  form  of  an 
address  to  the  Princo  of  Oranc-e,  so  it  appeared  should  those  of 
Ireland  (an  equally  independent  legislature)  provide  for  the  defi- 
ciency of  their  third  estate  in  the  present  instance.  This 
line  of  conduct  was  strenuously  opposed  by  the  Attorney-General 
(Mr.  Fitzgibbon) ;  but  the  strongest  of  his  arguments  v/ere  rather 
stattling  than  convincing,  and  made  but  little  impression  upon 
the  majority,  who  justly  felt  that  a  great  constitutional  proceed- 
ing upon  an  unforeseen  emergency  should  not  be  impeded  by  any 
narrow  technical  objections,  even  though  they  had  bean  more 
unanswerable  than  those  adduced  upon  this  occasion.* 

IS'ext  to  supporting  the  dignity  of  the  Irish  Parliament,  the 
Whig  leaders  of  1789  were  actuated  by  tlia  prospects  of  advan- 
tage to  Ireland  which  they  anticipated  from  the  change  of 
aduiiulstration  and  of  system  that  were  expected  to  follow  their 
exertioiiS.  They  were  anxious  to  invest  the  Heir  Apparent 
witli  'he    most  unrestrained  reo-al  aiithoritv,  in  the  fullest  con- 

*Tlii,-  following  iVA.a  one  uf  Mr.  Fitzgibbon's  arguments:  "  Let  nie  now  for  a  moment 
si.-ppose,  that  we,  in  the  dignity  of  our  independence,  appoint  a  Regent  for  Ireland, 
b'jinii;  a  dllTerent  person  from  the  Regent  of  England,  a  case  not  utterly  impossible,  if 
the  gentlemen  insist  upon  our  appointing  the  Prince  of  Wales  before  it  fliJiU 
■".•e  'nown  whether  he  will  accept  the  regency  of  England;  and  suppose  we  should  go 
fiirlher,  and  desire  him  to  give  tii;  royal  assent  to  bills,  he  would  say,  'My  good  people 
of  Ireland,  you  have,  by  your  own  law,  made  the  great  seal  of  England  absolutely  and 
essentially  iiec-.-naary  to  be  affixed  to  each  bill  before  it  passes  in  Ireland  ;  that  seal  is  in 
the  bauds  of  the  Chancellor  of  England,  who  is  a  very  sturdy  fellow  ;  that  Chancellor  is 
an  officer  under  the  Regent  of  England  ;  I  have  no  manner  of  authority  over  him  ;  and 
so,  my  very  good  people  of  Ireland,  you  had  better  apply  to  the  Regent  of  England,  and 
request  that  he  will  order  the  Chancellor  of  England  to  affix  the  great  seal  of  Kngland 
to  your  bills  ;  otherwise,  my  very  good  people  of  Ireland,  I  cannot  pass  them.' " 

"  This,"  said  Mr.  Curran,  in  his  observations  upon  this  argument,  "  is  taking  seals  for 
iiowns,  and  baubles  for  sceptres;  it  is  worshipping  wafers  and  wax  in  the  place  of  a 
Kii>S_  ;  it  is  substituting  the  mechanical  quibble  of  a  practising  lawyer  for  the  sound 
deduction  of  a  philosopher  standing  on  the  vantage  ground  of  science  ;  it  is  more  like  the 
language  of  an  Attorney  particular  than  an  Attorney-Geri'.ral  ;  it  is  that  kind  of  silly 
fatuity  tliat  on  any  other  subject  I  should  leave  to  be  answered  by  silence  and  contempt; 
but  when  blasphemy  is  uttered  against  the  constitution,  it  shall  not  pass  under  its  insig- 
nificance, because  the  essence  should  be  reprehended,  though  the  doctrine  carnot  make 
a  proselyte  ''—  M. 


A    BREAK-UP. 


141 


ndence  that  the  benefits  on  whicli  they  calculated  would  be 
coinmeT.siirate  with  the  power  to  confer  them.  How  far  these 
sanguine  hopes  would  have  been  realized,  how  far  the  measures  of 
a  ministry  listenino-  to  the  counsel  of  Mr.  Fox  could  have  liealed 
the  existing  discontents,  or  liave  prevented  the  calamities  that 
succeeded,  must  now  be  matter  of  controversial  speculation,  liis 
Majesty's  health  having-  been  fortunately  restored  before  the 
arrangements  regarding  the  Regency  were  yet  concluded. 

Aithouffh  the  conduct  of  the  Irish  House  of  Commons  at  tliis 
important  crisis  has  been  generally  adduced  as  a  proof  of 
the  dangerous  spirit  of  independence  that  pervaded  that  assem 
bly,  and  therefore  insisted  on  as  an  argument  for  a  legisla 
five  union;  yet,  were  it  now  worth  v, nile  to  examine  the  subject 
it  would  not  be  difficult  to  show  that  the  crowd  v\lio  on  thai 
occasion  so  zealously  volunteered  their  support  of  the  oppo- 
sition were  influenced  by  far  other  motives  than  a  lofty  sense 
of  their  own  country's  dignity ;  and  that,  however  the  Eng- 
lish government  might,  at  some  rare  conjuncture,  be  embarrassed 
by  their  versatility,  it  had  nothing  to  apprehend  from  their 
patriotic  virtue.  No  sooner  was  it  ascertained  that  the  cause 
winch  they  had  lately  espoused  was  to  be  unattended  with  emo- 
lument, than  they  returned  in  repentance  to  their  tenets;  and 
incontestably  did  they  prove  in  their  subsequent  life  the  extent 
and  the  sincerity  of  their  contrition. 

Tliere  were  a  few,  however,  who  would  upon  no  terms  continue 
their  support  of  the  Irish  Administration  :  they  lost  their  jilaces, 
wliic.h  they  might  have  retained,  and,  joining  the  opjposition, 
adhered  to  it  with  undeviating  and  "  desperate  fidelity,"  as  long 
as  the  Irish  Parliament  continued  to  exist.* 

*  AiiiMrig  tliese  were  Mr.  George  Ponsonby,  anJ  liis  brother,  Lord  Ponsonby;  and  in 
-lie  upiicr  house,  the  Duke  of  Leinster.  In  s.  letter  to  Mr.  Grattan,  Mr.  Ciirran  thus 
alludes  to  the  formation  ct  the  last  Opposition  in  the  Irish  Parliament:  "  Ycu  well 
remember  the  state  of  Ireland  ir.  1T89,  and  the  necessity  under  which  we  found  ourselvea 
of  forming  some  bond  of  honourable  connexion,  by  which  the  co-operation  of  even  a 
sin.iU  number  might  be  secured,  in  making  some  effort  to  stem  that  torrent  which  was 
carrying  every  thing  before  it.     I'or  ihiit  purpose  our  little  party  was  then  formed  ;  it 


142 


LIFE   Ob^   CURRAN. 


[On  April  21,  1Y89,  Ciirran  supported  the  bill  for  pre 
venting-  excise  officers  from  voting  at  parliamentary  elections — a 
measure  then  defeated  by  a  majority  of  148  to  93,  but  since 
adopted  all  tlirough  the  United  Kingdom.  Four  days  later 
he  supported  Sir  H.  Cavendish's  resolutions  condemnatory  of 
the  waste  and  useless  patronage  with  which  the  Dublin  police 
system  was  attended.] 

It  has  been  seen  in  the  preceding  pages,  that  the  zea!  w!tli 
which  Mr.  Curran  performed  his  public  duties  had  already 
twice  endangered  his  life  :  in  the  beginning  of  the  year  I'/OO,  it 
was  again  exposed  to  a  similar  rist.  If  his  duel  with  tba 
Irish  Secretary,  Major  Hobart  (now  alluded  to),  had  bean  the 
consequence  of  accidental  intemperance  of  language  or  con- 
duct on  either  side,  the  account  of  it  should  be  hastily  dis- 
missed ;  but  such  was  not  its  character.  The  circumstances  tha,t 
preceded  it  are  peculiarly  illustrative  of  the  condition  of  the 
times,  of  the  state  of  the  Irish  House  of  Commons,  of  the 
manner  in  which  that  state  rendered  it  incumbent  upon  an 
honest  senator  to  address  it,  and  of  the  dangers  that  attended 
him  who  had  the  boldness  to  perform  his  duty. 

In  the  month  of  February,  1790,  Mr.  Curran  made  the  follow- 
ing speech  in  that  House  P*  independent  of  the  other  reasons 
for  which  it  is  here  introduced,  it  may  be  oflFered  as  among 
the  most  favourable  examples  of  his  parliamentary  oratory. 

C(-U3l3ted  of  yourself,  the  late  Duke  of  Leinster,  th£.t  excellent  Irishman,  the  Ian  Lora 
Ponsonby.  Mr.  George  Ponsonby,  Mr.  Daly,  Mr.  Forbes,  and  some  very  few  others.  It 
may  not  be  for  us  to  pronounce  encomiums  upon  it,  but  we  are  entitled  to  say,  that  had 
it  been  as  sQccessful  as  it  was  honest,  we  rjight  liow  look  back  to  it  with  some  degree  of 
satisfaction.''  -C.  [The  Ministerial  deserters  in  Ireland  wore  cashiered  in  all  direction. 
It  was  said  that  the  Minister  thus  made  more  patriots  in  oce  day  than  patriotisim  had  ever 
made  in  a  year.  Sheridan's  younger  brother,  Charles,  the  Irish  Secretary-at-War.  was 
among  the  ejected— but  he  fared  well,  for  Pitt  gave  him  a  pension  of  £1,2C0  a  year,  with 
a  reversion  of  ££00  to  hia  wife.] — M. 

♦This  speec-iwas  delivered  on  February  4, 1790,  on  the  question  of  stamp  olfioera' 
salaries.  At  that  time  the  Earl  of  Westmoreland  vits  Viceroy  (he  aucjeeded  the  Marquis 
of  Buckingham  on  January  5,1790),  and  Major  Hobart  was  his  Chief  Secretary— a  posl- 
tion  not  to  be  confounded  with  that  of  Secretary  of  State  for  Ireland,  abolished  at  the 
Union. — M. 


VARLTAMENTARV   OKATOBY.  143 

"  I  rise  with  that  deep  concern  and  melanclioly  hesitation,  '.vliich 
a  man  must  feel  wlio  does  not  know  whether  he  is  addressinir  an 
independent  Parliament,  the  representatives  of  the  people  of  Ire- 
land, or  whether  he  is  addressing  the  representatives  of  corruption  : 
I  rise  to  make  the  experiment ;  and  I  approach  the  question  with 
all  those  awful  feelino-s  of  a  man  who  finds  a  dear  friend 
prostrate  and  wounded  on  the  ground,  and  who  dreads  lest 
the  means  he  should  use  to  recover  him  may  only  serve  to  show 
that  he  is  dead  and  gone  for  ever.  I  rise  to  make  an  experiment 
upon  the  representatives  of  the  people,  whether  they  have  abdi- 
cated their  trust,  and  liave  become  the  paltry  representatives 
of  Castle  influence :  it  is  to  make  an  experiment  on  the  feelings 
and  probity  of  gentlemen,  as  was  done  on  a  great  personage, 
when  it  was  said,  '  thou  art  the  man.'  It  is  not  a  question 
respecting  a  paltry  Viceroy ;  no,  it  is  a  question  between  the  body 
of  the  countiy  and  the  administration  ;  it  is  a  charge  against  the 
government  for  opening  the  batteries  of  corruption  against  tlic 
liberties  of  the  peoi)le.  The  grand  inquest  of  the  nation  are 
called  on  to  decide  this  charge;  they  are  called  on  to  declare 
whether  they  would  appear  as  the  prosecutors  of  the  accom- 
plices of  corruption  :  for  thougli  the  question  relative  to  the  divi- 
sion of  the  Boards  of  Stamps  and  Accounts  is  in  itself  of  little 
importance,  yet  will  it  develop  a  system  of  corruption  tending  to 
the  utter  destruction  of  Irish  liberty,  and  to  the  separation  of  the 
connexion  with  England. 

"  Sir,  I  bring  forward  an  act  of  the  meanest  administration  that 
ever  disgraced  this  country.  I  bring  forward  as  one  of  the  threads 
by  which,  united  with  others  of  similar  texture,  the  vermin  of  the 
meanest  kind  have  been  able  to  tie  down  a  body  of  strengtii  and 
importance.  Let  me  not  bo  supposed  to  rest  here ;  when  the 
murderer  left  the  mark  of  his  bloody  hand  upon  the  wall,  it  n'as 
not  the  trace  of  one  finger,  but  the  whole  impression  which  con- 
victed him.* 

•  The  allusion  hcra  Is  F''obably  to  a  little  story  popular  among  children  in  IrelancJ^ 


144:  LIFE   OF   CURKAN; 

"I'lie  Board  of  Accounts  was  instituted  in  Lord  Townsliend*s 
administration,*  it  came  forward  in  a  manner  rather  inauspicious ; 
it  was  questioned  in  Parliament,  and  decided  Ly  tlie  majority'  f 
the  five  members  who  had  received  places  under  it.  Born  in  cor- 
ruption, it  could  only  succeed  by  venality.  It  continued  an  useless 
board  until  the  granting  of  the  stamp  duties  in  Lord  Harcourt's 
time  :  f  the  management  of  the  stamps  was  then  committed  to  i't^ 
and  a  solemn  compact  was  made  that  the  taxes  should  not  be 
jobbed,  but  that  both  departments  should  be  executed  by  one  board. 
So  it  continued  till  it  was  tliought  necessary  to  increase  the  salaries 
of  the  commissioners  in  the  Marquis  of  Buckingham's  famous 
administration ;  but  then  nothing  was  held  sacred :  the  increase 
of  the  Revenue  Board,  the  increase  of  the  Ordnance,  thirteen  thou- 
sand pounds  a  year  added  to  the  infamous  Pension  List,  these 
were  not  sufficient,  but  a  compact,  which  should  have  been  held 
sacred,  was  violated,  in  order  to  make  places  for  members  of 
parliament.  How  indecent!  two  county  members  prying  into 
stamps  !  A^^lat  could  have  provoked  this  insult  ?  I  will  tell  y,.u  : 
you  remember  when  the  sceptre  w'as  trembling  in  the  hand  of  arj 
almost  expiring  monarch ;  when  a  factious  and  desperate  English 
minister  attempted  to  grasp  it,  you  stood  up  against  the  proi'ana- 
tion  of  the  English,  and  the  insult  offered  to  the  Irish  crown  ;  and 
had  you  not  done  it,  the  union  of  the  empire  would  have  been 
dissolved.  You  remember  this;  remember  then  your.-ehes- 
remember  your  triumph  :  it  was  that  ti'iiimph  which  exposed  you 
to  submit  to  the  resentment  of  the  Viceroy :  it  was  that  triumph 
which  exposed  you  to  disgrace  and  flagellation.  In  proportion  as 
you  rose  by  the  union,  your  tyrant  became   appalled ;  but   when 


which  states  that  tho  murderer,  intending  to  cover  the  whole  mark  with  du3t,  left  that 
of  one  finger  iiiu-onceuled  ;  but  that  he  continued  firmly  to  protest  his  innocjccc,  until 
the  removal  of  the  uust  convicted  him,  by  displaying  an  impression  corresponding  exactly 
with  the  size  of  his  hand.  A  similar  circumstance  is  introduced  in  an  old  Sran-:  h 
play.— C. 

♦  From  1767tol77S— M. 

t  Lord  Ilurcourt  succeeded  Lord  Townshend  as  Viceroy. — M, 


PAELIAMENTAKY   BUSINESS.  145 

he  divided,  lie  sunk  you,  and  you  became  debased.  How  this  has 
happened,  no  man  could  imagine ;  no  man  could  have  suspected 
that  a  minister  without  talents  could  have  worked  your  ruin. 
There  is  a  pride  in  a  great  nation  that  fears  not  its  destruction 
from  a  reptile ;  yet  is  there  more  than  fable  in  wliat  we  are  told 
of  the  Romans,  that  they  guarded  the  Palladium,  rather  against 
the  subtlety  of  a  thief,  than  the  force  of  an  invader. 

"  I  bring  forward  this  motion,  not  as  a  question  of  finance,  not 
as  a  question  of  regulation,  but  as  a  penal  inquiry ;  and  the  people 
will  now  see  whether  they  are  to  hope  for  help  within  these  walls, 
or  turning  their  eyes  towards  heaven,  they  are  to  depend  on  God 
and  their  own  virtue.  I  rise  in  an  assembly  of  three  hundred 
persons,  one  hundred  of  whom  have  places  or  pensions ;  I  lise  in 
an  assembly,  one  third  of  whom  have  their  ears  sealed  against  the 
complaints  of  the  people,  and  their  eyes  intently  turned  to  their 
own  interest :  I  rise  before  the  whisperers  of  the  Treasury,  the 
bargainers  and  runners  of  the  Castle ;  I  address  an  audience  before 
whom  was  held  forth  the  doctrine,  that  the  Crown  ought  to  use 
its  influence  on  this  house.  It  has  been  known  that  a  master  has 
been  condemned  by  the  confession  of  his  slave,  drawn  from  him 
by  torment ;  but  here  the  case  is  plain :  this  confession  was  not 
made  from  constraint;  it  came  from  a  country  gentleman  deser- 
vedly high  in  the  confidence  of  Administration,  for  he  gave  up 
other  confidence  to  obtain  theirs. 

"  I  know  I  am  speaking  too  plain ;  but  which  is  the  more 
honest  physician,  he  who  lulls  his  patient  into  a  fatal  security,  or 
he  who  points  out  the  danger  and  the  remedy  of  the  disease  ? 

"  I  should  not  be  surprised  if  bad  men  of  great  talents  should 
endeavour  to  enslave  a  people ;  but,  when  I  see  folly  uniting  with 
vice,  corruption  with  imbecility,  men  without  talents  attempting 
to  overthrow  our  liberty,  my  indignation  rises  at  the  presumption 
aiid  audacity  cf  the  attempt.  That  such  men  should  creep 
into   power,  is  a  fatal   symptom  to  the   constitution ;   the  poli- 

1 


146 


LIFE    OF   CTTREAJSr. 


tical,  like  the  material  body,  when  near  its  liissolution,  often 
bursts  out  in  swarms  of  vermin. 

"  In  this  administration,  a  place  may  be  found  for  every  bad 
man,  whether  it  be  to  distribute  the  wealth  of  the  Treasury, 
to  vote  in  the  House,  to  whisper  and  to  bargain,  to  stand  at 
the  door  and  note  the  exits  and  entrances  of  your  members, 
to  mark  whether  they  earn  their  wages — whether  it  be  for 
the  hireling  who  comes  for  his  hire,  or  for  the  drunken  aid- 
de-camp  who  swaggers  in  a  brothel ;  nay,  some  of  them  find  their 
way  to  the  treasurj^-bencl;,  the  political -musicians,  or  hurdygurdy- 
men,  to  pipe  the  praises  of  the  viceroy. 

"  Yet  notwithstanding  the  profusion  of  Government,  I  ask, 
v/hat  defence  have  they  made  for  the  country,  in  case  it  should 
be  invaded  by  a  foreign  foe  ?  They  have  not  a  single  ship  on  the 
coast.  Is  it  then  the  smug  aid-de-camp,  or  the  banditti  of 
the  Pension  List,  or  the  infantine  statesmen,  who  j^lay  in  the  sun- 
shine of  the  Castle,  that  are  to  defend  the  country  ?  No,  it 
is  the  stigmatised  citizens.  We  are  nov.'  sitting  in  a  country 
of  four  milllous  of  people,  and  our  boast  is,  that  they  are 
govei'ned  by  laws  to  which  themselves  consent ;  but  are  not 
more  than  three  millions  of  the  people  excluded  from  any  parti- 
cipation in  inaking  those  laws  ?  In  a  neighboring  country,* 
twenty-four  millions  of  people  were  governed  by  laws  to  which 
their  consent  was  never  asked ;  but  we  have  seen  them  struggle 
for  freedom — in  tliis  .struggle  they  have  burst  their  chains,  and  on 
the  altar,  erected  by  despotism  to  public  slavery,  t.iey  have 
enthroned  the  in)age  of  public  liberty, 

"  But  are  our  people  merely  excluded  ?  No,  they  are  denied 
redress.  Next  to  the  adoration  which  is  due  to  God,  I  bend 
in  reverence  to  the  institutions  of  that  rehgion,  which  teaches  me 
to  know  his  divine  goodness !  but  what  advantage  does  the 
peasant  o''  the  South  receive  from  the  institutions  of  religion! 

•  Jrance. — M. 


SIR   BOYLE   ROCHE.  147 

Does  he  experience  the  blessing  ?  No,  he  never  hears  the  voice 
of  the  shepherd,  nor  feels  the  pastoral  crook,  but  when  it  is 
entering  his  flesh,  and  goading  his  very  soul. 

"  In  this  country,  sir,  our  King  is  not  a  resident ;  the  beam  ot 
royalty  is  often  reflected  through  a  medium,  which  sheds  but 
a  kind  of  disastrous  twilight,  serving  only  to  assist  robbers 
and  plunderers.  We  have  no  security  in  the  talents,  or  responsi- 
bility of  an  Irish  ministry  ;  injuries  which  the  English  constitu- 
tion would  easily  repel  may  here  be  fatal.  I  therefore  call 
upon  you  to  exert  yourselves,  to  heave  oft'  the  vile  incumbrances 
that  have  been  laid  upon  you.  I  call  you  not  as  to  a  measure  of 
finance  or  regulation,  but  to  a  criminal  accusation,  which  you 
may  follow  with  ]»unishment.  I,  therefore,  sir,  most  humbly 
move : 

"That  an  humble  address  be  presented  to  his  Majesty,  praying 
that  he  will  order  to  be  laid  before  this  house  the  particulars 
of  the  causes,  consideration,  and  representations,  in  consequence 
of  which  the  Boards  of  Stamps  and  Accounts  have  been  divided 
with  an  increase  of  salary  to  the  officers;  also  that  he  will 
be  graciously  pleased  to  communicate  to  this  house  the  names  of 
the  persons  who  recommended  that  measure." 

To  this  speech,  containing  charges  so  grave  and  direct,  and  so 
demanding  an  equally  solemn  refutation  if  they  Avere  refutable,  it 
is  curious  to  observe  the  style  of  answer  that  was  made.  When 
appeals  of  this  nature  are  received  with  contumely  and  mockery, 
it  is,  perhaps,  among  the  most  certain  sigjs,  that  the  legis- 
lature which  can  tolerate  such  a  practice  has  completely  survived 
its  virtue. 

Sir  B.  Roche. — "  Though  I  am  in  point  of  consequence 
the  smallest  man  amongst  the  respectable  majority  of  this 
house,  yet  I  cannot  help  feeling  the  heavy  shower  of  the  honour- 
able gentleman's  illiberal  and  unfounded  abuse. 

"  If  I  had  the  advantage  of  being  bred  to  the  learned  pro- 
fession   of  the   law,  I   should   be  the  better   enabled   to  follow 


148  LIFE  OF  CUEBAJ!!. 

the  honourable  gentleman  through  the  long  windings  of  his 
declamation ;  by  such  means  I  should  be  blessed  with  '  the 
gift  of  the  gab,'  and  could  declaim  for  an  hour  or  two  upon 
the  turniiig  of  a  straw,  and  yet  say  nothing  to  the  purpose; 
then  I  could  stamp  and  stare,  and  rend,  and  tear,  and  look 
up  to  the  gods  and  goddesses  for  approbation.  Then  in  the 
violence  of  such  declamation,  I  should  suppose  myself  standing 
at  tlie  head  of  my  shop  (at  the  bar  of  the  King's  bench),  dealing 
out  my  scurrility  by  the  yard  to  the  highest  bidder;  my 
shop  being  well  stored  with  all  sorts  of  masquerade  di-esses 
to  suit  all  descriptions  of  persons.  The  Newgate  criminal  (if  I 
was  well  paid  for  it)  I  would  dress  up  in  the  flowing  robes 
of  innocence.  The  innocent  man  (being  also  well  paid  for  it)  I 
could  cover  up  in  a  cloak  of  infamy,  that  should  stick  as  close  to 
h'm  as  his  regimentals. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  find  that  the  military  character  does  not  seem 
to  meet  with  the  honourable  gentleman's  approbation.  I  profess 
myself  to  have  had  the  honour  to  be  bred  a  soldier,  and  if  there 
is  any  thing  amiable  or  praiseworthy  in  my  character,  I  am 
entirely  indebted  to  that  school  for  it.  If  indeed  I  was  bred  a 
pettifogger,  or  a  Newgate  solicitor,  I  should  be  better  enabled  to 
follow  the  learned  gentleman  through  the  variety  of  matter  which 
he  has  introduced  to  the  house.  My  right  honourable  friend,  * 
upon  the  floor,  is  animadverted  on  and  abused,  because  he  is  a 
soldier ;  but  let  me  tell  the  honourable  gentleman  below  me,  that 
the  high  ground  of  his  honour  and  character  places  him  above 
tne  reach:  of  his  envenomed  shafts,  bearded  with  envy,  hatred  and 
malice. 

ic  %  =k  %  %  ******** 

The  Viceroy  of  this  country  is  surrounded  by  military  gentlemen 
of  the  first  families  in  both  kingdoms ;  they  are  supposed  to  be 
out  of  the  line  of  all  politics,  yet  the  indecent  and  disrespectful 
manner  in  which  they  are,  on  this  occasion,  held  out  in  this  house, 

*  Major   Hobart. — 0. 


iLEPLY  TO   BOYLE  EOOHB.  149 

does,  in  my  appre^.v.  sion,  deserve  tlie  severest  censure.  I  would, 
however,  recommend  it  to  the  honourable  gentleman  to  stop  a 
little  in  his  career  of  general  abuse  of  men,  who  cannot  be  here 
to  ansAver  for  themselves ;  lest  those  gentlemen  ( who  never 
offended  him)  m'ujht  sjyeu^k  to  him  on  the  subject  in  another  place. 
Oh,  shame  I  shame  !  shame  and  reprobation  on  such  behaviour  !" 

After  a  long  debate,  Mr.  Curran  replied,  and  concluded  with 
the  following  observations  upon  Sir  Boyle  Roche's  language : 

"We  nave  been  told  this  night  in  ex2:)reES  words,  that  the  man 
who  dares  to  do  his  duty  to  his  country  in  this  house  may  expect 
to  be  attacked  without  those  walls  by  the  military  gentlemen  of 
the  Castle.  If  the  army  had  been  directly  or  indirectly  mentioned 
in  the  course  of  the  debate,  this  extraordinary  declaration  might 
be  attributable  to  the  confusion  of  a  mistaken  charge,  or  an 
absurd  vindi'^atioii ;  but  without  connexion  with  the  subject,  or 
pretence  of  connexion  v/ith  the  subjeat,  a  new  principle  of  govern- 
ment is  advanced,  and  that  is  the  bayonet ;  and  this  is  stated  in 
the  fullest  house,  and  tlie  most  crowded  audience  I  ever  saw.  We 
are  to  be  silenced  by  corruption  within,  or  quelled  by  force  of 
arms  without.  Nor  is  it  necessary  that  those  avowed  principles 
of  bribery  and  arras  should  come  from  any  high  personal 
authority ;  they  have  been  delivered  by  the  known  retailers  of 
administration,  in  the  face  of  that  bench,  and  heard  even  without 
a  murmur  of  dissent,  or  disapprobation.  'As  to  my  part,  I  do  not 
know  how  it  juay  be  my  destiny  to  fall ;  it  may  be  by  chance,  or 
malady,  or  violence,  but  should  it  be  my  fate  to  perish  the  victim 
of  a  bold  and  honest  discharge  of  my  duty,  I  will  not  shun  it.  I 
will  do  that  duty,  and  if  it  should  expose  me  to  sink  under  the 
blow  of  the  assassin,  and  become  a  victim  to  the  public  cause, 
the  most  sensible  of  my  regrets  would  be,  that  on  such  an  altar 
there  should  not  bo  immolated  a  more  illustrious  sacrifice.  As  to 
myself,  while  I  live,  1  shall  despise  the  peril.  I  feel,  in  my  own 
spirit,  the  safety  of  my  honour,  and  in  my  own  and  the  spirit  of 
the  people,  do  I  feel  strength  enough  to  hold  that  Administration. 


150  LIFE   OF   CUKKAN. 

which  can  give  a  sanction  to  menaces  like  these,  resjyonsible  for 
their  consequences  to  the  nation  and  the  individual. 

Mr.  Curran  had  soon  occasion  to  act  upon  this  last  declaration. 
In  a  few  days  subsequent  to  the  preceding  debate,  he  was  openly- 
insulted  by  a  person  belonging  to  one  of  those  classes,  upon 
which  he  had  accused  the  Administration  of  squandering  the  pub- 
lic money.  He  accordingly  deputed  one  of  his  fi-ieuds,  Mr.  Egan,* 
to  acquaint  the  Secretary  with  the  outrage  that  had  been  com- 
mitted on  him,  in  consequence  of  what  he  had  asserted  in  the 
House  of  Commons,  and  to  express  his  expectation,  "  that  Major 
Hobart  would  mark  his  sense  of  such  an  indignity  offered  to  a 
Member  of  Parliament  by  one  of  his  official  servants,  in  the  dis- 
missal of  the  man  from  his  service."  To  this  application  Major 
Hobart  replied,  that  "  he  had  no  power  to  dismiss  any  man  from 
the  service  of  government,"  and  after  referring  Mr.  Curran  to  the 
House  of  Commons,  as  the  tribunal,  before  which  he  should  com- 
plain of  any  breach  of  his  privileges,  expressed  his  surprise  "  that 
any  application  should  have  been  made  to  him  upon  the  occasion 
of  an  outrage  committed  by  a  person  who  was  as  much  a  stranger 
to  him  as  he  could  be  to  Mr.  Curran."  Upon  this,  the  following 
respondence  ensued : 


"to    the    right   HON.   MAJOR    HOBART. 

"  March  28, 1790. 

"  Sir  :— 

"  A  man  of  the  name  of ,  a  conductor  of  your  press,  a 

writer  for  your  government,  your  notorious  agent  in  the  city, 

*  Notwithstanding  their  friendship,  Curran  and  Egan  fought  a  duel.  Curran  was  small 
in  stature  and  very  slight.  Egan  was  a  giant.  When  tlie  seconds  were  measuring  the 
ground  Egan  said,  "  Curran,  my  boy,  this  is  not  fair,  I  might  as  well  fire  at  a  lamp  post  as 
you,  so  small  are  you.  Look  at  me  (striliing  his  enormous  bulk),  you  cannot  help  hit- 
ting me."  Curran  answered,  "  Very  true,  my  good  fellow.  Suppose  that  we  chalk  my 
size  upon  your  person,  and  every  bullet  outside  the  outline  shall  count  for  nothing!" 
They  both  smiled  nt  the  ludicrous  idea,  harmlessly  exchanged  shots,  went  and  breakfasted 
together,  and  never  again  met  in  a  hostile  manner. — M, 


LBTTTEE   TO    MAJOK   HOB  ART.  151 

your  note-taker  iu  the  House  of  Commons,  in  consequence  of 
some  observation  that  fell  from  me  in  that  House  on  your  prodi- 
gality, in  rewarding  such  a  man  with  the  pr.blic  money  for  such 
services,  had  the  audacity  to  come  within  a  lew  paces  of  me,  in 
the  most  frequented  part  of  this  metropolis,  and  shake  his  stick  at 
me  in  a  manner  which,  notwithstanding  his  silence,  was  too  plain 
to  be  misunderstood.  I  applied  to  you  to  dismiss  him,  because  he 
is  your  retainer,  for  whom  you  ought  to  be  responsible.  You 
have  had  recourse  to  the  stale  artifice  of  office,  and  have  set  up 
incapacity  and  irresponsibility  against  doing  an  act  which,  as  a 
minister,  you  Avero  ab's,  and  which,  as  a  man  of  honour,  you 
should  have  been  ready  to  do.  As  to  your  being  a  stranger  to 
the  man,  you  knew  when  you  Avrote  it  that  it  was  a  ])itiful  eva- 
sion ;  I  did  not  apply  to  the  Secretarj'  to  discard  a  companion,  but 
to  dismiss  the  runner  of  his  administration.  As  to  your  attempt 
to  shelter  yourself  under  the  Lord  Lieutenant,  who,  during  the 
cr'ntinuance  of  his  government,  cannot  be  responsible  for  such 
outrages,  you  should  have  felt  that  to  be  equally  unworthy  of  yon. 
If  such  subterfuges  were  tolerated,  every  member  of  Parliament, 
every  gentleman  of  the  country,  who  migiit  become  obnoxious'to 
the  Castle,  would  be  exposed  to  personal  violence  from  the  ruffians 
of  your  administration.  I  should  give  up  the  cause  of  both,  if  I 
did  not  endeavour  to  check  this  practice,  not  in  the  person  of  the 
instrument,  but  of  his  abettor.  I  knew  perfectly  well,  the  resent- 
ments I  had  excited  by  my  public  conduct,  and  the  sentiments 
and  declarations  T  have  expressed  concoining  your  adiiiinisti-atiou. 
I  knew  I  might  possibly  become  the  victim  of  such  declarations, 
particularly  when  I  saw  that  an  attempt  at  personal  intiinidatiDii 
was  part  of  the  filan  of  government;  but  I  was  too  deeply 
impressed  with  thcii'  truth  to  be  restrained  by  any  consideration 
of  that  sort  from  making  lliem  in  piiblic,  or  asserting  them  with 
my  latest  breath. 

"  Sir,  I  am  aware  that  you  could  not  be  convicted  of  hanng 
actually  commissioned  this  last  outrage  upon  mc;  but  that  you 


152  LIFK   OF   CUKKAN. 

have  protected  and  approved  it.  I  o\vn  I  am  very  sorry  that  you 
have  suffered  so  unjustifiable  a  sanction  of  one  of  your  creatures 
to  commit  you  and  me  personally.  However,  as  you  are  pleased 
to  disclaim  the  offender,  and  the  power  of  punishing  him,  I  feel  I 
must  acquiesce,  whatever  may  be  my  opinion  on  the  subject,  and 
though  you  have  forced  upon  me  a  conviction  that  you  have 
sacrificed  the  principles  of  a  man  of  honour  to  an  ofiicial  expe- 
diency. This  sentiment  I  should  have  conveyed  through  my 
friend,  but  that  it  might  possibly  become  necessary  that  our 
communication  on  this  business  should  be  public. 
"  I  have  the  honour  to  be,  sir, 

"  Your  obedient  servant, 

"John  P.  Curran." 

"to    JOHN    PHILPOT    CURRAN,    ESQ. 

"  Dublin  Castlb,  March  29, 1790. 

"Sir:— 

"Your  original  application  to  me,  through  Mr.  Egan,  was, 

that  Mr. should  be  dismissed  from  the  service  of  Government, 

for  the  insult  which  he  had  oftered  to  you ;  or  that  Government 
should  co-oj)erate  with  you  in  preferring  a  comj)laint  to  the  House 
of  Commons  againsi  L'n?  for  a  breach  of  their  privileges.  This 
application  was,  on  the  face  of  it,  official ;  and,  in  answer  to  it,  I 
pointed  out  to  you,  by  direction  of  his  Excellency,  the  Lord  Lieu- 
tenant, the  only  mode  by  which  you  could  have  the  redress  you 
had  sought  for  the  outrage  of  which  you  had  complained.  You 
have  now  thought  fit  to  desert  the  mode  of  official  proceeding, 
and  to  couple  a  personal  attack  against  me  with  an  appeal  to  the 
public. 

"  Whatever  are  your  hopes  and  motives  in  such  conduct,  be 
assured  that  the  attempt  of  making  your  cause  the  cause  of  the 
public  will  never  succeed.  The  public  will  never  believe  that  I 
could  have  directly  or  indirectly  instigated  any  man  to  insult  you. 
They  will  see  that  the  regular  mode  of  redress  was  open  to  you, 


MAJOK  hobabt's  letier.  163 

even  the  redress  you  at  first  aflfected  to  seek.  You  will  never 
fasten  a  belief  on  the  public  that  any  man  was  mad  enough  to 
insult  a  member  of  Parliament,  merely  for  his  having  accused  the 
Government  of  prodigality  in  rewarding  him :  nor  will  all  your 
ingenuity  serve  to  entangle  me  in  that  transaction,  merely  because 

you  are  pleased  to  style  Mr. my  retainer ;  or  to  create  a 

persuasion  that  I  am  personally  responsible  for  the  resentment  of 
a  servant  of  the  Government,  who  was  placed  in  the  situation 
which  he  now  fills  many  years  before  I  came  into  office.  The 
public  will  view  this  matter  in  its  true  light;  and  they  will  clearlji 
perceive,  what  no  man  can  ever  justify,  that  you  have  transferred 
to  me  the  quarrel  which  another  has  provoked,  for  no  one  reason, 
but  because  you  think  it  politic  so  to  do. 

"  Your  parade  of  the  resentments  which  you  boast  to  have 
excited  by  your  public  conduct,  and  your  insinuation  that  an 
attempt  at  personal  intimidation  was  part  of  the  plan  of  Govern- 
ment, I  cannot  condescend  to  notice.  The  public  will  never  be 
the  dupes  of  such  a  paltry  aftectation,  to  give  a  popular  com- 
plexion to  your  (juarrel. 

"  As  to  your  charge  of  my  having  sacrificed  the  principles  of  a 
man  of  honour  to  political  expediency,  the  motive  of  the  accusa- 
tion is  too  evident  to  demand  a  reply.  T  trust  to  my  own  charac- 
ter for  its  refutation. 

"  I  pity  the  condition  of  any  man  who  feels  himself  reduced  to 
the  desperate  expedient  of  endeavouring  to  wipe  off"  the  affronts 
and  insults  he  has  submitted  to  from  others,  by  forcing  a  quarrel 
upon  a  man  who  never  injured  him  in  the  remotest  degree;  and  I 
am  at  a  loss  to  conceive  how  such  a  conduct  can  be  reconciled  to 
the  principles  or  feelings  of  a  gentleman  or  a  man  of  honour. 

"  Perhaps  a  man  in  a  public  situation,  and  who  has  given  no 
offence,  might  be  well  justified  in  aj^pealing  to  the  laws,  if  he 
should  bo  personally  called  upDii.  I  do  not  mean,  sir,  to  avail 
myself  of  yoiu-  example.  You  say,  sir,  that  it  may  be  necessary 
that  the  communication  on  this  subject  should  be  public:    had 

7* 


154  LIFE   OF   CUiaJAN. 

you  not  said  so,  my  answer  to  yoa  would  have  been  short,  indeed. 
I  have  the  hor»onr  to  be 

"  Your  obedient,  humble  servant, 

"R.    HOBART. 

"P.  S. — Having  put  you  in  possession  of  my  sentiments,  I  shall 
consider  it  unnecessary  to  answer  any  more  letters." 

"to    the    right    HON.    MAJOR    HOBART.* 

March  80, 1T90. 

"  Sir, 

"As  I  wish  to  stand  justified  to  the  public  and  to  you  for 
having-  had  recourse  to  you  ou  the  present  extraordinary 
occasion,  I  heg  leave  once  more  to  trouble  you  with  a  few  lines, 
to  which  no- answer  can  l:»e  necessary.  They  will  be  addressed  to 
you  in  that  temper  which  the  general  purport  of  the  last  letter  I 
had  the  honour  to  receive  entitles  you  to  expect. 

"  An  unparalleled  outrage  was  offered  to  me — the  person 
was  beneath  my  resentment.  In  this  very  difficult  situation 
to  whom  could  I  resort  but  his  masters  ?  and  if  to  them,  to  whom 
but  the  first  ? 

"  I  never  charged  you,  sir,  with  instigating  that  man  to  such  an 
act ;  but  am  sorrj^  that  I  cannot  add,  that  such  a  part  has 
been  taken  to  punish  him  as  was  necessary  to  acquit  all  your 
administration.  I  know  perfectly  well  you  found  him  in  office, 
and  also  in  certain  lower  confidential  departments,  Avhich  are 
more  easily  understood  than  expressed;  and  my  complaint  was, 
that,  after  such  gross  misconduct,  he  continued  there. 

"  I  beg  leave  to  remind  you,  that  I  did  not  say  that  any 
man  was  mad  enough  to  insult  a  Member  of  Parliament,  merely 
for  accusing  Government  of  prodigality  in  rewarding  him  ;  but  I 

♦  Major  Hobait  was  son  oi  and  succcifsor  to  the  thh-d  Earl  of  Buckinghamshire,  and 
died  in  ISlo.— M. 


HOBABT   AND    CUKRAN.  155 

did  dsy,  aiid  must  repeat,  that  the  insult  upon  me  was  made 
in  conssequence  of  my  having  arraigned  the  prodigahty  of 
rewardinsr  such  a  man  for  such  services.  Permit  me  to  add, 
that  you  cannot  but  have  reason  to  believe  this  to  be  the 
fact.  Some  of  your  Court  have  talked  freely  upon  the  sub- 
ject ;  and  the  man,  by  his  own  application  of  the  word,  has 
acknowledged  his  vocation  and  his  connexion. 

"I  must  still  continue  to  think,  that  what  you  are  pleased  to 
call  a  quarrel  is  nothing  but  the  result  of  my  public  con- 
duct. Sure  I  am  that  I  should  have  escaped  the  attacks  that 
have  been  made  upon  my  person  and  character,  and  this  last 
among  others,  if  that  conduct  h;id  been  less  zealous  and  decided. 

"  As  to  your  charge  of  my  forcing  a  quarrel  upon  a  man — 
"who  never  in  the  remotest  degree  injured  you" — there  is 
something  in  tlie  expression  which,  I  acknowledge,  excites  in 
my  mind  a  very  lively  concern.  And  it  is  an  aggravation  of  the 
outrage  upon  me,  that  it  left  me  no  resort,  save  one  painful  to  my 
feelings,  but  necessary  to  my  situation. 

"As  to  the  insinuation  which  accompanies  your  expression  of 
regret,  I  am  sorry  it  should  have  escaped  from  Major  Ilobart. 
He  cannot  seriously  mean  that  I  should  squander  my  person  upon 
every  ruffian  who  may  make  an  attempt  upon  my  life.  In 
the  discharge  of  political  and  professional  duties,  every  man  must 
expect  to  excite  enemies.  I  cannot  hope  to  be  more  for- 
tunate ;  but  I  shall  commit  myself  only  with  such  as  cannot 
disgrace  me.  A  farther  answer  may  be  necessary  to  this  part  of 
your  letter ;  but  that,  as  it  cannot  be  so  properly  conveyed 
in  writing,  my  friend,  Mr.  Egan,  Avill  have  the  honour  to  explain. 
"  I  have  the  honour  to  be,  sir, 

"  Your  obedient  servant, 

"J.    P.    CURRAN." 

A  duel  immediately  followed,  in  which  neither  party  receive<i 
any  ii.jury. 


156  LIFE   OF   CURRAN. 

In  reviewing  this  transaction,  it  would  not  be  difficult  for  any 
one,  who  should  feel  so  disposed,  to  produce  many  arguments 
support   of  the   conclusion,  that   Mr.    Curran's  demand  of  j 
sonal  satisfaction  from  the  Irish  minister  was  a  departure  ir' 
the  usages  of  public  life.     Such  a  ^.rson  would,  however,  lea'v. 
out  of  his  consideration  the  circumstances  that  provoked  and  that 
could  justify  such  a  proceeding — the  in  lamed  state  of  the  times 
— the  previous  debate  in  parliament — the  minister's  tacit  sanction 
of  the  menaces  of  his  adherents — and  Mr.  ^  arran's  remonstrance 
upon   the    occasion    not   having   produced    an  o.    ^rvation    that 
could  deter  the  future  insulter.     The  latter  was  i  ^e  view  which 
convinced   himself  and   his  friends   that   it  was   only  by  some 
such   decisive    measure    as   that   which   he    adopted    that   the 
privileges  and  persons  of  his  party  could  be  secured  from  farther 
vdolence.     The  particulars  of  the  affair,  however,  are  given  here, 
not  as  a  subject  of  controversy,  but  as  a  striking  public  fact,  and 
an  event  in  Mr.  Curran's  political  life. 


Mr.  Curran's  dispute  and  frequent  collisions  in  Parliament  with 
Mr.  Fitzgibbon  have  been  already  adverted  to ;  and,  in  what  has 
been  hitherto  related,  the  conduct  of  neither  party  has  appeared 
marked  by  any  peculiar  aggravations ;  but  the  latter  having  now 
become  Chancellor  of  Ireland,*  Lord  Clare  remembered  the 
resentments  of  Mr.  Fitzgibbon,  and  avenged  the  wounds  he  had 
received  in  the  senate  by  excluding  Mr.  Curran  from  all  practice 
in    his    court.f     Such    a   mode   of  reprisals  has  been   generally 

*  He  was  appointed  in  June,  1789,  and  was  then  called  to  the  House  of  Lords  as  Baron 
Fitzgibbon,  of  Lower  Connello,  county  of  Limerick.  In  1793,  he  was  created  Viscount 
Fitzgibbon,  and  in  1795,  Earl  of  Clare,  all  in  the  Peerage  of  n-eland.  In  1799,  he  was 
made  a  Baron  in  the  Peerage  of  Great  Britain,  and  died  in  1802.— M. 

+  This  was  elTected  by  letting  the  p\ibIio  fee  that  Mr.  Curran  had  not  (in  the  technical 
phrase)  the  ear  of  the  court— tiuA  in  this  Lord  Clare  so  entirely  succeeded,  that  in  a  \exy 
little  time  no  client  would  venture  to  entrust  a  Chancery  cause  of  any  impor'ance  to  the 
discountenanced   advocate.     Mr.   Curran's   loss   of  professional   income  was  extreme, 


JUSTICE.  157 

reprehended  as  merely  unmanly  and  ungenerous,  but  it  was 
a  great  deal  more.  The  misconduct  of  persons  in  elevated 
stations  is  seldom  canvassed  with  the  rigour  necessary  to  their 
perfect  reprobation.  So  miich  does  Power  impose  upon  the 
understandings  of  men,  that,  almost  trembling  to  scrutinize  the 
offences  that  should  be  most  exposed,  they  are  rather  satis- 
fied to  consider  the  enjoyment  of  high  trust  as  a  kind  of  apology 
for  its  violation.  A  judge  setting  his  fjice  against  a  particu- 
lar advocate  does  not  commit  a  simple  act  of  unkindness  or  inde- 
corum ;  he  offers  as  criminal  an  outrage  as  can  be  imagined 
to  the  most  sacred  privileges  of  the  community.  The  claim 
of  the  subject  to  be  heard  with  impartiality  is  not  derived 
fi'om  the  favour  of  the  judge ;  it  is  a  right,  as  independent  of  per- 
sons, and  as  sanctioned  by  law,  as  that  which  entitles  the  judge  to 
sit  upon  the  bench  :  it  is  the  bounden  duty  of  the  latter  to  aflbrd 
an  honest,  unbiassed  attention  to  every  suitor  in  his  court, 
or  (what  is  equivalent)  to  such  counsel  as  the  suitor  appoints  to 
represent  himself:  when  the  judge,  therefore,  from  motives 
of  private  or  political  dislike,  refuses,  on  hearing  of  a  cause,  the 
fullest  indulgence  that  legal  proceedings  admit,  he  not  only 
unworthily  marks  out  an  obnoxious  individual  as  the  victim 
of  his  own  angry  passions,  diminishing  his  credit,  and  thereby, 
perhaps,  depriving  him  of  his  bread ;  but  as  far  as  in  him 
lies,  he  directly  tends  to  defraud  the  unoffending  subject  of 
his  property,  or  his  reputation,  or  his  life ;  he  does  the  same 
indirectly,  by  compelling  the  advocate,  if  he  has  a  spark  of 
the  spirit  befitting  his  station,  to  exhaust  in  resistance  to  such 
unseemly  partiality  a  portion  of  that  time  and  vigour  which 
should  be  exclusively  appropriated  to  the  service  of  his  client. 
These  scenes  of  indecent  strife  too  inevitably  strip  the  seats 
of  law  of  their  character  and  influence ;  for  who  can  look 
up  with  confidence  or  respect  to  a  tnbunal,  where  he  sees  faction 

There  was  an  immediate  diminution  of  £1,000  a  year,  which  the  Court  of  Chancery 
alone  had  produced  ;  and  this  an  increasing  income.  The  aggregate  of  his  loss  ho 
always  estimated  at  £30  000.— C. 


158  LIFE  OF  CtJBRAK. 

domineering  over  equity,  and  the  minister  of  justice  degraded 
into  a  partizau  ? 

This  flagrant  abuse  of  tlie  judicial  functions  by  Lord  Clare  has 
never  incurred,  in  Ireland,  all  the  o'dium  that  it  merited — with 
his  admirers  it  was  a  speck  upon  the  sun,  and  his  enemies  had 
deeper  crimes  to  execrate.  The  widely  different  deportment  of 
his  successors  has  also  removed  all  present  apprehensions  of  a 
repetition  of  such  scenes ;  still  the  vicious  model  may  find  its 
imitators — the  tramplers  upon  human  rights  are  not  peculiar  to 
any  generation ;  and  wherever  they  do  appear,  their  exposure 
should  be  insisted  on  as  a  future  protection  to  the  jjublic ;  the 
characters  of  such  men  should  be  rendered  an  antidote  to  their 
example. 

For  this  deadly  injury  inflicted  on  him  by  the  highest  law- 
oflScer  in  the  kingdom,  Mr.  Curran  was  not  tardy  in  taking  signal 
vengeance.  He  saw  that  his  enemy  had  advanced  too  far  to 
recede — he  disdained  to  conciliate  him  by  submission  or  by  mild 
expostulation.  To  have  acted  with  forbearance,  or  even  with 
temper,  (however  amiable  and  prudent,  had  it  been  a  private 
case)  would  have  been  in  the  present  one,  as  he  considered  it,  a 
desertion  of  what  was  to  him  above  every  personal  consideration, 
of  a  great  constitutional  principle,  involving  the  rights  and  secu- 
rities of  the  client,  and  the  honour  and  independence  of  the  Irish 
bar.  He  was  not  insensible  (it  could  hardly  be  expected  that  he 
should)  to  such  an  invasion  of  his  feelings  and  his  income ;  but 
in  resisting  it  as  he  did,  with  scorn  and  exposure,  he  felt  that  he 
was  assuming  the  proud  attitude  of  a  public  man,  contending 
against  a  noxious  system  of  "  frantic  encroachments,"  of  which  he 
was  the  accidental  victim ;  and  that  the  result,  however  unproduc- 
tive to  his  private  interests,  would,  at  least,  show  that  the  advo- 
cate was  not  to  be  scared  from  the  performance  of  his  duty  by 
the  terrors  of  contumely  or  pecuniary  loss ;  and  that  though  the 
judge  might  be  for  the  moment  victorious  in  the  contest,  his  vic- 
tory should  cost  him  dear. 

The  opportunities   of  hurling  direct  defiance  at  Lord   Clare 


DtJBLm    MATOEALTY.  159 

might  have  now  been  rare.  They  could  no  longer  meet  in  the 
House  of  Commons ;  and  the  Chancellor  provided  against  a  fre- 
quent intercourse  in  his  court  ;*  but  an  extraordinary  occasion  soon 
presented  itself,  and  enabled  the  injured  advocate  to  execute  his 
objects  of  retaliation,  in  the  dignified  character  of  a  public  aven- 
ger, before  an  audience  where  every  blow  was  more  public  and 
more  humiliating. 

The  Lord  Mayor  of  the  city  of  Dublin  is  chosen  by  the  Board  of 
Aldermen,  whose  choice  is  confirmed,  or  disapproved,  by  the  Com- 
mon Council.  In  the  year  1790  [April  16th,]  the  board  elected  a 
person  (Alderman  James)  whom  the  Commons,  without  assigning 
the  reasons  of  their  disapprobation,  successively  rejected. f  Their 
real  motive  was  a  determination  to  continue  rejecting  the  names 
returned  to  them,  until  the  election  of  the  Aldermen  should  fall 
upon  a  person  attached  to  the  popular  cause.  The  Board  per- 
ceiving this,  and  denying  that  the  Common  Coimcil  had  such  a 
right  of  capricious  rejection,  returned  no  more,  and  broke  up 
without  having  duly  elected  a  Lord  Mayor.  Upon  this  the 
Sherifts  and  Commons  (according  to  the  law  that  provided  for 
such  an  event)  proceeded  to  elect  one,  an.l  fixed  upon  a  popular 
candidate,  Alderman  Hovdson.J 


*  The  occasional  style  of  their  warfare  in  the  Court  of  Chancery,  for  the  little  time 
that  Mr.  Curran  continued  to  be  employed  there,  may  be  collected  from  the  following 
instance.  Lord  Clare  had  a  favourite  dog  that  sometimes  followed  him  to  the  bench. 
One  day,  duiing  an  argument  of  Mr.  Curran's,  the  Chancellor,  in  the  spirit  of  habitual 
petulance  which  distinguished  him,  instead  of  attending  to  the  argument,  turned  his  head 
aside  and  began  to  fondle  the  dog.  The  counsel  stopped  suddenly  in  the  middle  of  a 
sentence — the  judge  started.  "  1  beg  panlon,"  said  Mr.  Curran,  "  I  thought  your  Lordships 
had  been  in  consultation  ;  but  as  you  have  been  pleased  to  resume  your  attention,  allow 
me  to  impress  upon  your  excellent  understandings,  that'' — &c. — C. 

t  The  fact  is,  the  burgesses  of  Dublin  in  their  guilds  had  pledged  themselves  not  to 
return  any  one  as  Lord  Mayor  or  Member  of  Parliament  for  the  city,  who  held  place  or 
pension  from  the  government.  Alderman  James  was  doubly  obnoxious — first  as  a  place- 
holder and  next  from  the  nature  of  his  place, — Commissionership  of  Police. — M. 

t  Howison  was  elected  by  81  votes  to  8.  Napper  Tandy  led  thepopular  party— Qifford 
headed  tlw;  Opposition  in  the  Common  Council.  The  Aldermen  again  elected  Aldermau 
James.  This  led  to  the  ajipeal  to  tbe  Privy  Council,  on  petition  from  James,  who  non- 
tended  that  the  Commons  could  not  Ugally  reject  without  aaaigiiiiig  a  cause. — M, 


160  LIFE   OF   CURRAN. 

This  contest  between  the  Board  of  Aldermen  and  the  Commons, 
after  having  undergone  much  violent  discussion,  and  excited  the 
utmost  agitation  in  the  metropolis,  was  now  brought  before  the 
Lord  Lieutenant  and  Privy  Council  (at  which  Lord  Clare  presided 
as  Lord  Chancellor)  for  their  final  decision.  The  Council  Cham- 
ber was  thrown  open  as  a  public  court.  The  concourse  of  spec- 
tators, among  whom  were  the  most  opulent  and  respectable  citizens 
of  Dublin,  was  immense.  The  question  before  the  Court  was  to 
be  the  mere  legal  construction  of  an  act  of  parliament,*  but  the 
Chancellor  and  the  Ministry  notoriously  favored  the  pretensions  of 
the  Board  of  Aldermen,  so  that  the  question  before  the  public  was 
whether  the  rights  of  the  city  were  to  be  treated  with  constitu- 
tional respect,  or  to  be  crushed  by  the  despotic  power  of  the 
Castle.f 

Upon  this  solemn  and  vital  question,  Mr.  Curran  appeared  as 
one  of  the  leading  counsel  for  the  Commons  and  the  object  of 
their  choice.  Alderman  Howison.  He  had  not  proceeded  far  in 
his  argument  before  he  showed  that  he  did  not  mean  to  confine  it 
to  the  literal  and  technical  interpretation  of  a  statute ;  but  that, 
looking  at  the  question  as  the  public  did,  he  should  raise  it  from  a 
cold  legal  discussion  into  a  great  constitutional  struggle  between 
the  privileges  of  the  subject  and  the  influence  of  the  Irish  Ministry. 
But  he  could  not  have  taken  a  more  infallible  method  of  soon  re- 
ducing it  from  a  question  of  law,  or  of  principle,  into  a  personal 
I'ontest  between  himself  and  the  aristocratic  Chancellor.     Accord- 

*  The  83d  of  George  II.,  c.  16.— M. 

t  GratUin,  Loid  Charlemont,  Lord  Perry,  Lord  Carhampton,  the  Viceroy,  and  others 
attended.  Fitzgibbon  presided  as  Lord  Chancellor.  Evidence  was  heard  for  both  sides 
The  Privy  Council  decided  for  a  new  election.  The  Aldermen  re-elected  James,  and  tbe 
Common  Conncil  again  elected  Howison.  Two  new  petitions  were  sent  in.  On  June  7th, 
1790,  counsel  were  heard  by  the  Privy  Council  for  James  and  Howison,  respectively.  The 
former  decision  was  repeated, — the  election  went  as  before.  On  July  10th,  when  the  case 
came  before  the  Privy  Council  for  the  third  time,  Curran  made  the  speech,  given  in  the 
text,  in  which  he  attacked  the  Lord  Chancellor.  Eventually,  the  Privy  Council  gave  it 
decision  in  favour  of  James,  who  resigned,  and  both  parties  then  agreed  on  electing 
Howison,  tbe  popular  man,  whom  the  Piivy  Council  were  compelled  to  approve  r.f,  hi« 
character  and  claims  being  unexceptionable. — M. 


ingly,  their  hostility  immediately  burst  forth  in  the  iiiterruptioiLS 
of  the  judge,  and  the  contemj^tuous  indifterence  with  which  they 
were  treated  by  the  advocate.  At  length,  the  latter  (by  way  of 
allusion  to  the  unconstitutional  conduct  of  a  former  chancellor, 
Sir  Constantine  Phipps,  upon  a  similar  occasion)  proceeded  to  draw 
the  following  picture  of  his  irritated  enemy,  in  his  own  presence, 
and  in  that  of  the  assembled  community.* 

"On  grounds  like  these,  for  I  can  conceive  no  other,  do  I  sup- 
pose the  rights  of  the  city  were  defended  in  the  time  to  which  I 
have  alluded ;  for  it  appears,  by  the  records  which  I  have  read, 
that  the  city  was  then  heard  by  her  counsel ;  she  was  not  denied 
the  form  of  defence,  though  she  was  denied  the  benefit  of  the  law. 
In  this  very  chamber  did  the  Chancellor  and  Judges  sit,  with  all 
the  gravity  and  affected  attention  to  arguments  in  favour  of  that 
liberty  and  those  rights  which  they  had  conspired  to  destroy, 
l^iit  to  what  end,  my  lords,  ofler  argument  to  such  men?  A  little 
and  a  peevish  mind  may  be  exasperated,  but  how  shall  it  be  cor- 
rected by  refutation  ?  How  fruitless  would  it  have  been  to  repre- 
sent to  that  wretched  Chancellor  that  he  was  betraying  those 
rights  which  he  was  sworn  to  maintain ;  that  he  was  invohing  a 
government  in  disgrace,  and  a  kingdom  in  panic  and  consterna- 
tion ;  that  he  was  violating  every  sacred  duty,  and  every  solemn 

*  The  person  who  was  the  most  zealous  in  exciting  a  spirit  of  opposition  in  the  Com- 
mon Council  was  Mr.  Tandy,  a  member  of  the  Whig  Club.  Mr.  Gratt»n,  one  of  the  most 
distinguished  members  of  the  same  association,  speaks  thus  of  the  above  transaction  : — "An 
attack  was  made  on  the  rights  of  the  city.  A  doctrine  was  promulgated,  that  tlie  Common 
Council  had  no  right  to  put  a  negative  on  the  Lord  Mayor  cliosen  by  the  Board  of  Aldermen, 
except  the  board  itself  should  assent  to  the  negative  put  on  its  own  choice.  This  doctrine 
was  advanced  liy  the  court,  to  secure  the  election  of  the  mayor  to  itself.  In  the  course 
of  the  contest,  the  Minister  involved  himself  in  a  personal  altercation  with  tlie  citizens; 
with  Mr.  Tandy  he  had  carried  on  a  long  war,  and  with  various  success.  In  the  compass 
of  h's  wrath,  he  paid  his  compliments  to  the  Whig  Club,  and  tliat  club  advanced  the 
shield  of  u  free  people  over  the  rights  of  the  city,  and  humbled  the  minister,  in  the  pre- 
sence of  those  citir.ens,  whose  privileges  he  had  invaded,  and  whose  persons  he  had 
calumniated."— v4hsu«/-  to  Lord  Clare's  Pamphlet. 

Alderman  Ilowisou's  counsel,  Mr.  Curran,  and  the  late  Mr.  George  Ponsonby  (after- 
wards Chancellor)  were  mcndjers  of  the  Whig  Club,  ami  refused  to  accept  any  remunera- 
tion fur  llifir  exertions  upon  lliis  ocoa-lon. — C. 


162  LIFE  OF  CURRAN. 

engagement  lliat  bound  liim  to  himself,  his  country,  his  sovereign, 
and  his  God !  Alas !  my  lords,  by  what  arguments  could  any  man 
hope  to  reclaim  or  to  dissuade  a  mean,  illiberal,  and  unprincipled 
minion  of  authority,  induced  by  his  profligacy  to  undertake,  and 
bound  by  his  avarice  and  vanity  to  persevere  ?  He  would  proba- 
bly have  replied  to  the  most  unanswerable  arguments  by  some 
curt,  contumelious,  and  unmeaning  apothegm,  delivered  with  the 
fretful  fimile  or  irritated  self-sufficiency  and  dis(^oncerted  ai'i'o- 
gance :  or  even  if  he  could  be  dragged  by  his  fears  to  a  considera- 
tion of  the  question,  by  what  miracle  could  the  pigmy  capacity  of 
a  stunted  pedant  be  enlarged  to  a  reception  of  the  subject?  The 
endeavour  to  approach  it  would  have  only  renioved  him  to  a 
greater  distance  than  he  was  before,  as  a  little  hand  that  strives  to 
grasp  a  mighty  globe  is  thrown  back  by  the  reaction  of  its  own 
eflbrts  to  comprehend.  It  may  be  given  to  an  Hale  or  an  Hard- 
wicke  to  discover  and  retract  a  mistake :  the  errors  of  such  men 
are  onl}^  specks  that  arise  for  a  moment  upon  the  surface  of  a 
splendid  luminary:  consumed  by  its  heat,  or  irradiated  by  its 
light,  they  soon  purge  and  disappear ;  but  the  perversenesses  of  a 
mean  and  narrow  intellect  are  like  the  excrescences  that  grow 
upon  a  body  naturally  cold  and  dark ; — no  fire  to  waste  them,  and 
no  ray  to  enlighten,  they  assimilate  and  coalesce  with  those  quali- 
ties so  congenial  to  their  nature,  and  acquire  an  incorrigible  per- 
manency in  the  union  with  kindred  frost  and  kindred  opacity. 
Nor,  indeed,  my  lords,  except  where  the  interest  of  millions  can 
be  aftected  by  the  folly  or  the  vice  of  an  individual,  need  it  be 
much  regretted,  that  to  things  not  worthy  of  being  made  better, 
it  hath  not  pleased  Providence  to  afford  the  privilege  of  improve- 
ment." 

Lord  Clare.*—"  Surely,  Mr.  Curran,  a  gentleman  of  your  emi- 
nence in  your  profession  must  see  that  the  conduct  of  former 
Privy  Councils  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  question  before  us. 

*  He  was  only  Baron  Fitzgibbon  at  the  time,  not  being  created  Earl  of  Clare  nntO 
1795. -M.  * 


THE   RETUEN   GAME.  163 

Tho  question  lies  in  the  narrowest  compass  ;  it  is  inerel}'  whether 
tlie  Commons  have  a  rig-ht  of  arbitrary  and  capricious  rejection, 
or  are  obliged  to  assign  a  reasonable  cause  tor  tlieir  disapproba- 
tion. To  that  point  you  have  a  right  to  be  heard,  but  I  hope  you 
do  not  mean  to  lectui-e  the  Conncil." 

Mr.  Curran. — "  I  mean,  my  lords,  to  speak  to  the  case  of  my 
clients,  and  to  avail  myself  of  every  topic  of  defence  which  I  con- 
ceive applicable  to  that  case.  I  am  not  spealdng  to  a  dry  point 
of  law,  to  a  single  judge,  and  on  a  mere  forensic  subject;  I  am 
addressing  a  very  large  auditory,  consisting  of  co-ordinate  mem- 
bers, of  whom  the  far  greater  number  is  not  versed  in  law.  Were 
1  to  address  such  an  audience  on  the  interests  and  rights  of  a 
great  city,  and  address  them  in  the  hackneyed  style  of  a  pleader, 
1  should  make  a  very  idle  display  of  profession,  with  very  little 
information  to  those  I  address,  or  benefit  to  those  on  whose  behalf 
I  have  the  honour  to  be  heard.  I  am  aware,  my  lords,  that  truth 
is  to  be  sought  only  by  slow  and  painful  progress :  I  know  also 
that  error  is  in  its  wxiave  Jlippant  and  coinpendicus ;  it  hops  lu'Uh 
airy  and  fastidioas  levity  over  proofis  and  arguments,  and  perches 
upon  asseiUion,  ivhich  it  calls  conclusion^'' 

Here  Mr.  Curran's  triumph  over  his  proud  enemy  was  com- 
})lete.  The  sarcastic  felicity  of  this  description  of  the  unfavour- 
able side  of  Loi'd  Clare's  mind  and  manner  was  felt  by  the  whole 
audience.  The  Chancellor  immediately  moved  to  have  tlie  cham- 
ber cleared,  and  <luring  the  exclusion  of  strangers  was  understood 
to  have  ineft'ectually  endeavoured  to  prevail  upon  the  Council  to 
restrain  the  advocate  from  proceeding  any  further  in  that  mode 
of  argument  which  liad  given  him  so  much  oflence. 

From  this  period  till  the  year  1794,  Mr.  Curran's  public  his- 
tory consists  principally  of  his  Parliamentary  exertions.  The 
Opposition  "persisted  to  combat  the  project  to  govern  Ireland 
by  corruption:"  for  this  purpose  they  brought  forward  a  series  of 
popular  measures;*   in  the  sup])ort  of  all  of  whi(;h  Mr.  Curran 

•  The  most  importaut  of  these  were  Mr.  Forbcs's  motion  for  a  place  bill,  Mr.  Qrattan'i 


164  LIFE   OF   CUKRAN. 

took  ;i  leading  part.*  Lord  Charlemont's  biographer,  who  heard 
him   upon  all   those  occasions,  says  of  him,  "  That  lie  animated 

fnr  an  inquiry  into  the  sale  of  Peerages,  the  Catliolio  question,  Parliamentary  Reform. 
The  inquiry  regarding  the  sale  of  Peerages  was  twice  moved  ;  by  Mr.  Grattan,  in  1790, 
and  by  Mr.  Curran  in  the  following  year  :  both  motions  failed,  although  the  fullest  evi- 
dence of  the  fact  was  offered.  "  I  have  proof,"  said  Mr.  Curran,  "  and  I  stake  my  cha- 
racter on  producing  sucli  evidence  to  a  committee,  as  shall  fully  and  incontrovertibly 
establish  the  fact,  that  a  contract  has  been  entered  into  with  the  present  ministers  to  raise 
to  the  peerage  certain  persons,  on  condition  of  their  purchasing  a  certain  number  of 
seats  in  this  house."  Upon  this  last  occasion  Mr.  Curran  was  loudly  called  to  order,  for 
having  reminded  tlie  house,  "  that  they  should  be  cautious  in  their  decision  on  this 
question  for  they  were  in  the  hearing  of  a  great  nnmher  of  the  people  of  It'eland." 
Mr.  Grattan  defended  the  expression,  and  thought  the  doctrine  of  censure  passed  upon 
it  inconsistent  with  the  nature  of  a  popular  assembly  such  as  a  House  of  Commons:  in  sup- 
port of  this  opinion  he  quoted  an  expression  of  Lord  Chatham,  who  in  the  liouse  of  peers, 
where  such  language  was  certainly  less  proper  than  in  a  house  of  commons,  addresseil 
the  peers,  "  My  Lords,  I  speak  not  to  your  lordships;  I  speak  to  tlie  public  and  to  the 
constitution."  "  The  words,"  added  Urattan,  "were  at  first  received  with  some  mur- 
murs, but  the  good  sense  of  the  house  and  the  genius  of  the  constitution  justified  him." 
Mr.  Curran,  on  resuming,  repeated  the  expression,  and  was  again  interrupted  by  violent 
cries  to  order,  wliich,  however,  he  silenced  by  obser-'iag,  "  I  do  not  allude  to  any  strangers 
in  your  gallery,  but  I  allude  to  the  constructive  presence  of  four  millions  of  people,  whom 
a  Serjeant  at  arms  cannot  keep  unacquainted  with  your  proceedings." — Ii'ish  Pari.  Deh., 
1791. 

During  the  debate  upon  the  same  subject  in  the  preceding  year,  Mr.  Or.'ittan  produced 
a  paper,  and  read  as  follows  :  "  We  charge  them  (the  Ministers)  publicly.-in  the  face  of 
their  country,  with  making  corrupt  agreements  for  the  sale  of  peerages  :  for  doing  which, 
we  say  that  they  are  impeachable.  We  charge  them  with  corriijit  agreements  for  the 
disposal  of  the  money  arising  from  tlie  sale,  to  purchase  for  the  servants  of  the  Castle 
seats  in  the  Assembly  of  the  People;  for  which  we  say  that  they  are  in;pi.aoJiaulc.  We 
charge  them  with  committing  these  offences,  not  in  one,  nor  in  two,  but  in  many 
instances  ;  for  which  complication  of  offences  we  say  that  they  are  impeachable;  guilty 
of  a  systematic  endeavour  to  undermine  the  Constitution,  in  violation  of  the  laws  of  the 
land.  We  pledge  ourselves  to  convict  them ;  we  dare  them  to  go  into  an  inquiry  ;  we  do 
not  affect  to  treat  them  as  other  than  public  malefactors  ;  we  speak  to  them  in  a  style  of 
the  most  mortifying  and  humiliating  defiance ;  we  pronounce  them  to  be  public  criminals. 
Will  they  dare  to  deny  the  charge?  I  call  upon  and  dare  the  ostensible  member  to  rise 
in  his  place  and  say,  on  his  honour,  that  he  does  not  believe  such  corrupt  agreements 

*  The  debates  in  which,  during  this  period  (1791-1),  Curran  took  a  leading  part  were 
tn  February  12, 1791,  when  he  made  a  long  and  powerful  attack  on  the  corruption  of  the 
Irish  Government,  and  being  reproved  for  alluding  to  strangers  in  the  House,  said,  "  1 
do  not  allude  to  strangers  in  the  gallery,  but  to  the  constructive  presence  of  the  people 
of  Ireland  ;"  on  February  IS,  1792,  when  he  argued  in  favour  of  the  removal  of 
Roman  Catholic  disabilities  ;  on  January  11, 179-3,  on  the  approaching  war  with  France; 
-.11  February  9,  1793,  in  favor  of  Parliamentary  Reform. — M. 


IN    PARLIAMENT.  165 

every  debate  with  all  his  powers ;  that  he  was  copious,  splendid, 
full  of  wit,  and  life,  and  ardour."  Of  the  justice  of  this  praise 
sufficient  proofs  uiight  be  given,  even  from  tlie  loose  reports  of 
his  speeches  upon  those  (questions ;  but  it  will  be  necessary  in  the 
following  pages  to  offer  so  many  examples  of  his  forensic  oratory, 
upon  which  his  reputation  so  mainly  depends,  that  his  efforts  in 
Parliament  become,  as  far  as  his  eloquence  is  concerned,  of 
secondary  moment,  and  claim  a  passing  attention,  rather  with 
reference  to  his  history  and  conduct,  than  as  necssary  to  his  lite- 
rary fame. 

have  taken  place.  I  wait  for  a  specific  answer."  Major  Hobart  avoided  a  specific 
answer.  Six  days  after,  Mr.  Orattan,  alluding  to  these  charges,  observed,  "  Sir,  I  have 
been  told  it  was  said  that  I  should  have  been  stopped,  should  have  been  expelled  the 
Commons,  should  have  been  delivered  up  to  the  bar  of  the  Lords  for  the  expressions 
delivered  that  day.  I  will  repeat  what  I  said  that  day."  After  reciting  the  charges 
aeriiitim  in  the  same  wordi,  he  thus  concluded,  "  I  repeat  these  charges  now,  and  if  any 
thing  more  severe  was  on  a  former  occasion  expressed,  I  bei^  to  be  reminded  of  it,  and  I 
will  again  repeat  it.  Why  do  you  not  expel  me  now?  Why  not  send  me  to  the  bar  o[ 
the  Lords?  Where  is  your  adviser?  Going  cjut  of  the  House,  I  shall  repeat  ray  senti- 
ments, that  his  Majesty's  Ministers  are  guilty  of  impeachable  offences,  and  advancing  to 
the  bar  of  the  Lords,  I  shall  repeat  these  ient'ments  ;  and  if  the  Tower  is  to  he  my  habi- 
tation, I  will  there  meditate  the  impeachment  of  these  Ministers,  and  return  not  to  capi- 
tulate, but  to  punish.  Sir,  I  think  I  know  myself  well  enough  to  say,  that  if  called  forth 
to  suflfer  in  a  public  cause,  I  will  go  further  than  my  prosecutors  both  in  virtue  and  in 
danger."— C. 


166  LIFE   OF   CUKBAN. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

State  of  parties — Trial  of  Hamilton  Rowan — Mr.  Curran's  fidelity  to  his  party— Rev. 
William  Jackson's  Trial,  Conviction,  and  Death — Remarks  upon  tliat  Trial — Irish 
Informers-  Irish  Jm'ies — The  influence  of  the  times  upon  Mr.  Curran's  style  of 
Oratory. 

Thk  period  was  uow  approaching  which  aftbrded  to  Mr.  Curran's 
forensic  talents  their  most  melancholy,  but  most  splendid  occa- 
fcicas  of  exertion.  With  this  year  (1794)  commences  the  series 
of  those  liistorical  trials  which  originated  in  the  distracted  con- 
dition of  his  countiy,  and  lo  the  political  interest  of  wliieli  his 
eloquence  has  now  imparted  an  additional  atti-action. 

From  the  year  1*789  the  discontents  of  Ireland  li;ul  heeii 
rapidly  increasing  ;  the  eftbrts  of  the  Opposition  in  I'arliameul 
h;'.viiig  failed  to  procure  a  reform  of  the  abuses  and  grievances  of 
which  the  nation  complained,  an  opinion  soon  prevailed  through- 
out the  community  that  the  Irish  Administration  had  entered 
into  a  formal  design  to  degrade  the  country,  and  \ir(ually  to 
;.p-jul  its  lately  aci:piired  independence,  by  transferring  the 
absolute  dominion  over  it  from  the  English  Parliament,  which 
had  j)reviousIy  governed  it,  to  the  English  Cabinet,  which  was  to 
be  its  future  ruler.  Without  inquiring  now  into  the  truth  of  this 
opinion,  it  will  be  sufficient  to  observe,  that,  in  the  agita- 
tion of  the  many  irritating  questions  that  it  involved,  it 
soon  appeared  that  Ireland  had  little  hope  of  seeing  them  termi- 
nated by  the  gentle  methods  of  argument  or  persuasion.  The 
adherents  of  the  Administration,  and  their  opponents,  wei-e  agreed 
upon  the  fact  of  the  universal  discontent,  and  uj)on  the 
dangers  that  it  threatened ;  but  they  diflPered  widely  upon 
the  measures  that  should  be  adopted  for  the  restoratioii  of 
repose. 


THE   PAST.  167 

The  first  were  determined  to  use  coercion.  They  seemed 
to  think  that  i^opiilar  excesses  are  almost  solely  the  people's  own 
creation — that  they  are  naturally  prone  to  disaffection — that 
complaints  of  grievances  are  resorted  to  as  a  mere  pretex*, 
to  gratify  this  propensity ;  and,  consequently,  that  a  provi 
dent  government  should  vigourously  resist  every  movement  o\ 
discontent  as  the  fearful  tokens  of  projected  revolution.  Tn  con- 
formity with  these  opinions  it  appeared  to  them  that  terror  alone 
could  tranquilize  Ireland ;  and,  tlierefore,  that  every  method  of 
impressing  upon  the  public  mind  the  power  of  the  State,  no  mat- 
ter how  un^jopular  their  nature,  or  how  advei'se  to  'Jie  estab- 
lished securities  of  the  subject,  should  be  adopted  and  apiilauded 
as  measures  of  salutary  restraint. 

The  truth  and  expediency  of  these  doctrines  were  as  firmly 
denied  bv  others,  who  maintained  that  conciliation  alone  could 
appease  the  pojiular  ferment.  'I'hey  deplored  the  general  ten- 
dency to  di-saftection  as  notorious  and  undeniable ;  but  they  con- 
sidered that  there  would  have  been  more  wisdom  in  provx^it- 
ing  tliau  in  jumisliing  it;  that  a  very  little  wisdom  would 
liave  been  sufficient  to  prevent  it ;  and  that  in  punishing  'a  no\\, 
the  Ministry  were  "combating^  not  causes,  but  ettects."  They 
denied  that  the  great  mass  of  the  Irisli,  or  of  any  commu- 
nity, were  naturally  prone  to  disafi'ection.  "Their  natiasi 
impulses  (they  observed,  in  replying  to  the  advocates  of  coercion) 
are  all  the  other  way."  Look  into  history  ;  for  one  revolution,  or 
attempt  at  revolution,  of  how  many  long  and  uninterrupted  des- 
potisms do  we  read ;  and,  whenever  such  attempts  occur,  it 
is  easy  to  assign  the  cause.  There  is  one,  and  only  one,  way 
of  measurii]g  the  excellence  of  any  («overnnu3nt — bv  considering 
the  condition  of  the  governed.  No  well  governed  ]>eople  will 
desire  to  exchange  real  and  present  blessings  fur  the  danger  and 
uncertainty  of  remote  and  fantastic  speculations  :  and  if  ever 
they  are  found  to  commit  their  lives  and  fortunes  to  such  despe- 
rate e.xperiments,  it  is  the  most  conclusive  evidence  that  they  are 


168  LIFE   OF   CUKKAN. 

badly  governed,  and  that  their  suiferings  have  impelled  them  "  to 
rise  up  in  vengeance,  to  rend  their  chains  upon  the  heads  cf  their 
oppressors."  Look  to  the  neighbouring  example  of  France, 
and  see  what  abominations  an  infuriated  populace  may  be 
brought  to  practise  upon  their  rulers  and  upon  themselves.  Let 
Ireland  be  saved  from  the  possibility  of  such  a  crisis.  The 
majority  of  its  people  are  in  a  state  of  odious  exclusion,  visiting 
tliem  in  its  cl^.ily  consequences  with  endless  insults  and  pri- 
vations, which,  being  minute  and  individual,  are  only  the  more 
intolerable.  Would  it  not  be  wise  then,  to  listen  to  their  claim 
of  equal  privileges,  which,  if  granted,  would  give  you  the  strong- 
est security  for  their  loyalty  ?  There  are  other  grievances — 
the  notorious  corruption  of  the  legislature— the  enormity  of  the 
Pension  List — and  many  more — of  these  the  nation  com- 
plains, and  seems  determined  to  be  heard.*  The  times  are  pecu- 
liar ;  and,  if  the  popular  cry  be  not  the  voice  of  wisdom,  it  should 
at  least  be  that  of  Avarning.  The  mind  of  all  Europe  is  greatly 
agitated :  a  general  distrust  of  Governments  has  gone  abroad ; 
let  that  of  Ireland  exhibit  such  an  example  of  virtue  and  mode- 
ration, as  may  entitle  it  to  the  confidence  of  the  people.  The 
people  seem  inclined  to   turbulence ;    but   treat  it  as  a  disease 


♦Every  session  the  Opposition,  again  and  again,  pressed  upon  the  Ministers  the  dan  ■ 
gers  to  wliich  their  system  was  exposing  the  State.  Thus  Mr.  Grattan  Ol)S(;rved,  early 
in  1793,  "  They  (the  Ministers)  attempted  to  put  down  tlie  Constitution  ;  but  now  they 
liave  put  down  the  Government.  We  told  them  so — we  admonished  them — we  told  them 
their  driving  would  not  do.  Do  not  they  remember  how  in  1790  we  warned  them?  They 
said  we  were  severe — I  am  sure  we  were  prophetic.  In  1791  we  repeated  our  admoni- 
tion— told  them  that  a  Government  of  clerks  would  not  dp — that  the  Government  of  the 
Tj-easury  would  not  do  —that  Ireland  would  not  Ion!,'  be  governed  by  the  trade  of  Parlia- 
ment ;  we  told  them  that  a  nation,  which  had  rescued  her  liberty  from  the  giant  of  Old 
England,  would  not  long  bear  to  be  trodden  on  by  the  violence  of  a  few  pigmies,  whom 
the  caprice  of  a  Court  had  appointed  Ministers."  Mr.  Currau's  language  was  equally 
emphatic — "Ireland  thinks,  that,  witliout  an  immediate  reform,  her  liberty  is  gone — I 
think  so  too.  While  a  single  guard  of  British  freedom,  either  internal  or  external, 
is  wanting,  Ireland  is  in  bondage.  She  looks  to  us  for  her  emancipation.  She  expects 
not  impossibilities  from  us — but  she  expects  honesty  and  plain  dealing  ;  and,  if  she  finds 
them  not,  remember  what  I  predict — she  will  abominate  her  Parliament,  and  look  for  a 
reform  to  herself."— P«/Z.  Deh.,  1793.-    C. 


UAMILTON    KOWAN.  169 

rather  than  avenge  it  as  a  crime.  Between  a  State  and  it3 
subjects  there  should  be  no  silly  punctilio  ;  their  errors  can  never 
justify  yours  :  you  may  coerce — you  may  pass  intemperate  laws, 
and  unheard-of  tribunals,  to  punish  what  you  should  have 
averted — you  may  go  on  to  decimate,  but  you  will  never  tran- 


Tliese  were  in  substance  the  views  and  arguments  of  tho 
minority  in  the  Irish  House  of  Conunons,  and  of  the  more 
reflecting  and  unprejudiced  of  the  Irish  community ;  but  such 
mild  doctrines  had  little  influence  Avith  that  assembly,  or  with  the 
nation.  By  the  Parliament  the  few  that  advanced  them  were 
regarded  as  the  advocates  of  the  existing  disorders,  because  they 
ventured  to  explain  their  origin,  and  to  recommend  the  only 
cure  ;  while  the  people  Avere  industriou:*ly  taught  to  withdraw 
their  confidence  from  public  men,  who,  instead  of  justifying  the 
popular  resentments  by  more  une(piivocal  co-operation,  were 
looking  forward  to  the  impending  crisis  as  an  object  of  apprehen 
sion,  and  not  of  hope. 

Such  was  the  condition  of  the  public  mind — the  Government 
depending  upon  force — the  People  familiarising  themselves  to  pro- 
je(;t.s  of  resistance — and  several  speculative  and  ambitious  men  of 
the  middle  classes  watching,  with  yet  unsettled  views,  over  the 
fermenting  elements  of  revolution,  until  it  should  appear  how  far 
they  could  work  themseNes  into  union  and  consistency,  when  Mr. 
Archibakl  Hamilton  Rowan*  published  an  adress  to  the  Volun- 
teers of  Ireland,  setting  fnrth  the  dangers  with  which  the  country 
was  thivatc'iii'd  from  for'.'io-n  and  domestic  foes,  and  invitino-  them 
L(t  riisinne  tlieir  arms  for  the  preservation  of  the  general  tran- 
quillity.    This  public-i'.ion  was  prosecuted  by  the  state  as  a  s'-.di- 


*  Mr.  Rowan  was  secre'yrr  'o  the  Society  of  Uuited  Irishmen  iu  Dublin.  It  is  proper 
to  obitfve  here,  that  this  was  one  of  the  original  societies  of  that  denomination,  whose 
vitfw.'^  did  cot  extend  beyond  a  constitutional  leforin.  They  have  been  sometimes  con- 
I'junded  with  tiie  sub>>enueiit  assuciatio:i3,  which,  under  the  same  popular  appellation, 
tiiiued  at  a  revolution.— C. 


? 


170  LIFE   OF   CUKKAN. 

tioiis  libel,  and  Mr.  Curran  was  selected  by  Mr.  Rowan  to  conduct 
his  defence. 

The  speech  in  'efence  of  Hamilton  Rowan  has  been  generally 
considered  as  one  of  Mr.  Curran's  ablest  etibrts  at  the  bar.  It  is 
one  of  the  fev/  that  has  been  correctly  reported;  and  t^  that  cir- 
cumstance is,  in  some  degree,  to  be  attributed  its  apparent  supe- 
riority. Notwithstanding  the  enthusiastic  applause  which  its 
delivery  excited,  he  never  gave  it  any  peculiar  prefc:rence  himself. 

The  opening  of  it  has  some  striking  points  of  resemblance  to 
the  exordium  of  Cicero's  defence  of  Milo.  If  an  imitation  was 
intended  by  the  Irish  advocate,  it  was  very  naturally  suggested 
by  the  coincidence  of  the  leading  to})ics  in  the  two  cases — the 
public  interest  excited — the  unusual  military  array  in  the  court— 
the  great  popularity  of  the  clients — and  the  factious  clamours  which 
preceded  their  trials.* 

"When  I  consider  the  period  at  which  this  prosecution  is 
brought  forward — when  I  behold  the  extraordinary  safeguai'd  of 
armed  soldiers  resorted  to,  no  doubt,  for  the  preservation  of  p<^ace 
and  order — when  I  catcb,  as  I  cannot  but  do,  the  throb  of  public 
anxiety,  that  beats  from  one  end  to  the  other  of  this  hall — when 
J  retlect  on  ^^hat  may  be  the  fale  of  a  m;xu  of  the  most  beloved 
personal  chai-icter,  of  one  of  the  mi;>st  respected  femilies  of 
our  country,  himself  the  otdy  individual  of  that  family,  I  may 
almost  say  of  that  country — who  can  look  to  that  possible  fate 
with  unconcern?  Feeling,  as  I  do,  all  these  impressions,  it  is  in 
the  honest  simplicity  of  my  heart  I  speak,  when  I  say  that  I  never 
rose  in  a  court  of  justice  with  so  much  embarrassment  as  on  this 
occasion. 

*  Nam  ilia  prsesidia,  quae  pio  templis  omnioas  oernitis,  etsi  contra  vim  coUocaLa  sunt, 
nobis  afferunt  tamen  liorroris  aliquid :  neque  eorum  quisquar.i,  quos  undique  intuentes 
cernitis,  unde  aliqua  pars  fori  adspici  potest,  et  hiy'us  exitura  judicM  expectantes,  non  cum 
virtuti  Milonis  favet,  turn  de  se,  de  liberis  suis,  de  patria,  de  fortunis  hodierno  die  deeer- 
tavi  putat. 

Unum  genus  est  adversum  infestumque  nobis  eorum,  quo<  P.  Clodii  furor  rapinis  et 
facendiis  et  omnibus  exitiis  publicis  pavit ;  qui  Vesterna  etiam  concione  incitati  aunt,  ut 
vobis  voce  praiirsnt,  quid  judicaretia. — C. 


THE   DEFENCE.  lYl 

"  If,  gentlemen,  I  could  entertain  a  hope  of  finding  refuge  foi 
tlie  .disconcertion  of  my  own  mind  in  the  perfect  composure  of 
yours;  if  I  could  suppose  tliat  those  awful  vicissitudes  of  hum.in 
events  that  have  been  stated  or  alluded  to,  could  leave  your  judo-- 
ments  undisturbed  or  your  hearts  at  ease,  I  know  I  should  form  a 
most  erroneous  opinion  of  your  characier.  I  entertain  no  sucli 
chimerical  hope-  I  form  no  such  unworthy  opinion — I  expect  not 
that  your  hearts  can  be  more  at  ease  than  my  own — I  have  no 
right  to  expect  it ;  but  I  have  a  light  to  call  upon  you  in  the 
name  of  your  countr\-,  in  the  name  of  the  living  dod,  of  whose 
eternal  justice  you  are  now  administering  that  portion  which 
dwells  with  us  on  this  side  of  the  grave,  to  discharge  your  breasts. 
as  far  as  you  aie  able,  of  eveiv  bias  of  prejudice  or  passion — 
that,  if  my  client  be  guilty  of  the  ofi'euce  charged  upon  him,  you 
may  give  tran(piillity  to  the  public  by  a  firm  verdict  of  conviction  ; 
or,  if  he  be  innocent,  by  as  firm  a  verdict  of  ac(juittal ;  and  that 
you  will  do  this  in  defiance  of  the  paltry  artifices  and  senseless 
clamours  that  luue  been  resorted  to,  in  order  to  bring  him  to  his 
trial  with  anticipated  conviction.  And,  gentlemen,  I  feel  an 
additional  necessity  of  thus  conjuring  you  to  be  upon  your  guard, 
iVom  the  able  ;ind  imposing  statement  which  you  have  just  heard 
on  the  part  of  the  inosecution.  I  know  well  the  virtues  and  talents 
of  the  excellenl  per.-ou  who  conducts  that  prosecution.*  I  know 
how  much  he  would  disdain  to  impose  on  you  by  the  trappings  of 
office;  but  I  also  know  1io;t  easily  we  mistake  the  lodgment 
which  character  and  eloquenv'^e  can  make  upon  our  feelings,  for 
those  impressions  that  reacan,  and  fact,  and  proof  oidy  ought  to 
work  upon  our  understandings." 

When  Mr.  Curran  came  to  ^bs.'vve  upon  that  part  of  the  pub- 
lication under  trial,  which  proposed  complete  Emancipation  to 
persons  of  every  religious  persuasion,  he  expressed  himself  as 
follows : 

"Do  you  think  it  wise  or  humane,  at  this  moment,  to  insult 

*  Tha  Attorney-General,  Mr.  Wolfe,  afterwards  Lord  Kilwavden.— C. 


172  LIFE    OF   CUBRAN. 

them  (the  Catholics)  by  sticking  up  in  the  pillory  the  man  who 
dared  to  stand  forth  as  their  advocate  ?  I  put  it  to  your  ogths , 
do  you  think  that  a  blessing  of  tliat  kind,  that  a  victory  obtained 
by  justice  over  bigotry  and  oppression,  should  have  a  stigma  cast 
upon  it  hj  an  ignomiuious  sentence  upon  men  bold  and  honest 
enough  to  propose  that  measure  ? — to  propose  the  redeeming  of 
religion  from  the  abuses  of  the  church,  the  reclaiming  of  three 
millions  of  men  from  bondage,  and  giving  liberty  to  all  who  had  a 
right  to  demand  it  ? — Giving,  I  say,  in  the  so  much  censured  words 
of  this  paper — giving  'Universal  Emancipation?' 

"I  speak  in  the  spirit  of  the  British  law,  which  makes  Liberty 
commensurate  with,  and  inseparable  from,  British  soil ;  which  pro- 
claims even  to  the  stianger  and  the  sojourner,  the  moment  he  sets 
his  foot  upon  Britisli  earth,  that  the  ground  on  which  he  treads  is 
holy,  and  consecrated  by  the  genius  of  Universal  Emancipation. 
No  matter  in  what  language  his  doom  may  have  been  pronounced 
— no  matter  in  what  complexion  incompatible  with  freedom,  an 
Indian  oi-  an  African  sun  irfiy  have  burnt  upon  him — no  matter 
in  what  disastrous  battle  his  liberty  may  have  been  cloven  down — 
no  matter  with  what  solemnities  he  may  have  been  devoted  upon 
the  altar  of  slavery — the  first  moment  he  touches  the  sacred  soil 
of  Britain,  the  altar  and  the  god  sink  together  in  the  dust;  hi? 
soul  w'alks  abroad  in  her  own  majesty  ;  his  body  swells  beyond  the 
measure  of  his  chains  that  burst  from  around  him  ;  and  he  standp 
redeemed,  regenerated  and  disenthralled,  by  the  irresistible  genius 
of  Universal  Emancipation." 

There  is,  farther  on,  a  passage  on  the  freedom  of  the  press,  too 
glowing  and  characteristic  to  be  omitted : 

"  If  the  people  say,  let  us  not  create  tv.rault,  but  meet  in  delega- 
tion, they  cannot  do  it;  if  they  are  anxious  to  promote  parliamen- 
tary reform  in  that  way,  they  cannot  do  it ;  tlie  law  of  the  last 
session  has,  for  the  first  time,  declared  such  meetings  to  be  a  crime. 
What  then  remains  ? — The  liberty  of  the  press  onlt/ — that  sacred 
palladiui     which  no  influence,  no  power,  no  minister,  no  g-overn- 


LrBERTY    OF   TH>:   ^RESS.  1  I?' 

ment,  which  nothing  but  the  depravity,  or  folly,  or  corruption  of  a 
jury  can  ever  destroy.  And  what  calamities  are  the  people  saved 
from,  by  having  public  communication  left  open  to  them  ?  I  will 
tell  you  Avhat  they  are  saved  from,  and  what  the  government  is 
saved  from.  T  will  tell  you  also  to  wliat  bot'i  are  exposed,  by 
shuttiiit;  up  that  communication.  In  one  case  sedition  speaks 
aloud,  and  walks  abroad ;  the  demagogue  goes  forth— the  public 
eye  i?  upon  him — he  frets  his  busy  hour  upon  the  stage ;  but 
scon  either  weariness,  or  bribe,  or  punishment,  or  disappointment, 
bear  him  down,  or  drive  him  off,  and  he  appears  no  more.  In  the 
other  case,  how  does  the  work  of  sedition  go  forward  ?  Night 
after' niglit  the  muffled  rebel  steals  forth  in  the  dark,  and  casts 
another  and  another  brand  upon  the  pile,  to  which,  when  the  hour 
of  fatal  maturity  shall  arrive,  he  will  app.y  the  flame.  Tf  you 
doubt  of  the  horrid  consequences  of  suppressing  the  eft'usion  even 
of  individual  discontent,  look  to  those  enslaved  countries,  where 
the  protection  of  despotism  is  supposed  to  be  secured  by  such  re- 
straints. Even  the  person  of  the  despot  there  is  never  in  safety. 
Neitlier  the  fears  of  the  despot,  nor  the  machinations  of  the  slave, 
have  any  slumber;  the  one  anticipatinr  the  moment  of  peril,  the 
other  watching  the  opportunity  of  aggression.  The  fatal  crisis  is 
equally  a  surprise  upon  both ;  the  decisive  instant  is  precipitated 
without  warning,  by  folly  on  the  one  side,  or  by  plirensy  on  the 
other ;  and  there  is  no  notice  of  the  treason  till  the  traitor  acts. 
But  if  you  wish  for  a  nearer  and  more  interesting  example,  you 
have  it  in  the  history  of  your  own  Revolution  ;  you  have  it  at  that 
memorable  period  when  the  monarch  found  a  servile  acquiescence 
in  the  ministers  of  bis  folly — when  the  liberty  of  the  press  was 
trodden  under  foot — when  venal  sheriffs  returned  packed  juries,  to 
carry  into  effect  those  fatal  conspiracies  of  the  few  against  the 
many — when  the  devoted  benches  of  public  justi(;e  were  filled  by 
some  of  those  foundlings  of  fortune,  who,  overwhelmed  in  the  tor- 
rent of  corruption  at  an  early  period,  lay  at  the  bottom  like 
c^rowned  bodies,  while  soundness  or  sanity  remained  in  them  ;  but. 


iT-i  LiFi5   OF   CURKAN. 

at  length,  becoming  buoyant  by  putrefaction,  tbey  rose  .is  tbey 
rotted,  and  floated  to  the  surface  of  the  polluted  stream,  where 
they  were  drifted  along,  the  objects  of  terror,  and  contagion,  and 
abomination.* 

"In  that  awful  moment  of  the  nation's  travail — of  the  last 
gasp  of  tyranny  and  the  first  breath  of  fi-eedom,  how  pregnant  is 
the  example  ?  The  Press  extinguished,  the  People  enslaved, 
and  the  Prince  undone.  As  the  advocate  of  society,  there- 
fore, of  peace,  of  domestic  liberty,  and  the  lasting  union  of  the 
two  countries,  I  conjure  you  to  guard  the  Liberty  of  the 
Press,  that  great  sentinel  of  the  State,  that  grand  detector  of 
public  imposture — guard  it — because  when  it  sinks  there  sinks 
with  it,  in  one  common  grave,  the  liberty  of  the  subject,  and  the 
security  of  the  Crown." 

The  concluding  passage  of  this  speech  (of  which  the  preceding 
extracts  are  inserted  merely  as  examples  of  its  style)  contains  one 
of  those  fine  Scriptural  allusions,  of  which  Mr.  Curran.  made 
such  frequent  and  successful  use  : 

"I  will  not  relinquish  the  confidence  that  this  day  will  be  ta; 
period  of  his  sufferings ;  and  however  mercilessly  he  has  beeii 
hitherto  pursued,  that  your  verdict  will  send  him  home  to 
the  arms  of  his  family  and  the  wishes  of  his  country.  But 
if  (which  Heaven  forbid)  it  hath  still  been  unfortunately  deter- 
mined that,  because  he  has  not  bent  to  power  and  author- 
ity, because  he  would  not  bow  down  before  the  golden  calf  and 
worship  it,  he  is  to  be  bound  and  cast  into  tie  furnace;  I 
do  trust  in  God,  that  there  is  a  redeeming  spirit  in  the  Constitu- 


*  Although  it  has  been  doubted  by  some  who  have  observed  upon  this  passage,  whether 
its  vigour  could  atone  for  the  images  that  it  presents,  it  may  not  be  un_^ratifying  to  hear 
the  manner  in  which  it  was  suggested  to  the  speaker's  mind.  A  day  or  two  before  Mr. 
Rowan's  trial,  one  of  Mr.  Curran's  friends  showed  him  a  letter  that  he  had  just  received 
from  Bengal,  in  which  the  writer,  after  mentioning  the  Hindoo  custom  of  throwing  the 
dead  into  the  Ganges,  added,  that  he  was  then  upon  the  banks  of  that  river,  and  that,  as 
he  wrote,  he  could  see  several  bodies  floating  down  its  stream.  The  orator,  shortly  after, 
while  describing  a  corrupted  bench,  recollected  this  fact,  and  applied  it  as  above.— C. 


HAMILTON   EOWAN.  1T5 

tion,  wliicli  will  be  seen  to  walk  Avith  the  sufferer  through  the 
flames,  and  to  2:)reserve  liini  unliuii  by  the  conflagration." 

If  the  expression  of  excited  emotions  by  the  auditors  be 
the  test  of  eloquence,  this  was  the  most  eloquent  of  Mr.  Curran's 
forensic  productions.  To  applaud  in  a  court  of  justice,  is  at  all 
times  irregular,  and  was  then  very  rare ;  but  both  during  the 
delivery  and  after  the  conclusion  of  this  speech,  the  by-standers 
could  not  refrain  from  testifying  their  admiration  by  loud  and 
repeated  bursts  of  applause :  when  the  advocate  retired  from  the 
court,  they  took  the  horses  from  his  carriage,  which  they  drew  ^o 
his  own  house ;  yet  notwithstanding  this  public  homage  to 
his  talents,  the  most  grateful  reward  of  his  exertions  was 
wanting — the  jury,  of  whose  purity  very  general  suspicions  wore 
entertained,  found  a  verdict  ao-ainst  his  client.* 

[In  the  autumn  of  1792,  the  Government  issued  a  Proclama- 
tion against  the  Irish  Volunteers,  who  replied  to  it,  in  an  address, 
written  by  Dr.  Drennan,  and  signed  by  Archibald  Hamilton 
Rowan,  as  Secretary.  Both  were  prosecuted.  Rowan,  as  here 
related,  was  defended  by  Curran.  It  is  stated  by  Thomas  Davis 
that  he  had  seen  the  back  of  Curran's  brief,  on  which  were  wi-it- 
ten  the  catch-words  of  his  speech  in  this  case,  viz.,  "  To  Arms — ■ 

*  Mr.  Rowan  was  sentenced  to  fine  and  imprisonment.  In  the  month  of  June,  1794, 
Dr.  William  Di-ennan  was  prosecuted  for  the  publication  of  the  same  libel,  lie 
was  defended  by  Mr.  Curran,  and  acquitted  ;  not,  however,  on  the  merits  of  the  imputed 
libel,  but  on  failure  of  proof  that  Dr.  Drennan  had  published  it.  On  the  first  of  the  pre- 
ceding May,  Mr.  Kowan  effected  his  escape  from  prison,  and  fled  to  France.  After 
a  long  exile,  and  many  wanderings,  he  was  permitted,  a  few  years  ago,  to  return  to  his 
country. — C. 

[The  reason  why  Hamilton  Rowan  escaped  from  prison  was  simply  this.  After 
he  was  incarcerated,  in  pursuance  to  his  sentence,  the  Rev.  William  Jackson,  an  emissary 
from  the  Committee  of  Salut  Fuhlique  of  Paris,  accompanied  by  one  Cockayne  (a  London 
pettifogging  attorney,  acting  as  incendiary  and  spy  for  William  Pitt,  the  English  Prime 
Minister),  visited  him  in  prison,  and  engaged  him  rather  deeply,  and  most  unsuspect- 
ingly, in  the  schemes  of  obtaining  French  aid  for  Ireland,  hi  which  Jackson  was 
interested.  On  Jackson's  arrest,  on  a  charge  of  high  treason,  Rowan  dreaJeJ  the  ven- 
geance of  the  Government,  and  escaped  to  France.  Thence  he  went  to  America, 
returned  to  Europe  in  1800,  received  the  King's  pardon  in  1802,  and  died  in  1834,  at  the 
age  of  e'ghty-four. — M.] 


176 


LIFE   OF   CUREAN. 


2iu1,  lieform — 3rd,  CatLolic  Emancipation — 4tb,  Convenlion — 
now  unlawful— Consequence  of  Co]i\-iction— Trial  before  Revolu- 
tion—Lambert— Muir— Character  of  R.— Furnace,  &c.— Rebel- 
lion Smothered  Stalts — Redeeming  Spirit." 

The  trial  commenced  on  January  29th,  1*794,  Wolfe    (Attor- 
no3--General,  and  afterwards  Chief  Justice)  stated  the  case.     Wit- 
nesses were  examined  to  show  Rowan's  connexion  with  the  docu- 
ment  charged    as    a   seditious    libel.     Curran's   speech    (one    oj 
tlie   best   be  ever   made)  then  followed,  and  on    its   conclusion, 
a  shout  of  admiration  and  sympathy  arose  in  the  crowded  Court, 
which  the  Judge  (Lord  Clonmel)  with  difficulty  stopped.     When 
Currftn    quitted   the    Court-house    that   day,  the   populace-,  whc 
waited  for  him,  took  the  horses  from  his  carriage,  and  dr^^'W  him 
home.     The  Attorney-General  replied  to  Curran,  vindicati.ig  him 
self  from  the  charge  of  having  uimecessai'i!\-  and    oppressively 
endeavoi-ed  to  delay  the  ti-ial.     The  Prime  Soigeant  (James  Fitz- 
gerald, father  of  O'Connell's  vanquished  opponent  at  Clare  elec- 
tion in  1828)  leplied  seriatim  to  Curran.     Lord  Clonmiel  charo'ed. 
not  only  strongly  but  violently,  against  Rowan.     The  jury  con- 
victed, after  only  ten  minutes'  deliberation.     Rowan  waived  In's 
right  of  taking  four  days  to  decide  whether  he  would  move  for  an 
arre.st  of  judgment,  but  Lord  Clonmel  declined  passing  sentence 
until  the  four  days  had  expired,  and  committed  Rowan  to  prison 
dui-ing  the  intervah 

On  February  4,  1794,  however.  Rowan's  counsel  applied  to  set 
aside  the  verdict,  on  several  grounds,  viz.,  that  one  of  the  jurors, 
before  the  trial,  had  made  .a  hostile  declaration  ao-ainst  the 
prisoner ;  that  one  of  the  High  Sheriffs,  who  struck  the  jury 
panel,  was  partial  and  hostile  ;  that  the  principal  witness  had 
committed  pe:jury  ;  and  that  the  Judge  (Lord  Clonmel)  had  mis- 
directed the  jury.  The  case  was  argued  at  great  length,  by  Cur- 
ran, and  responded  to  by  the  Crown  lawyers.  On  Februai-y  7, 
the  Judges  (Clonmel  and  Boyd)  decided  against  the  applica- 
tion for  a  n^w  trial.     Before  sentence  was  passed,  Rc^wan  himself 


DK.    DEENNAK.  177 

addressed  the  Court,  stating  that  from  his  position  and  large  stake 
in  the  country,  he  was  the  last  man  who  could  Avish  for  an  insur- 
rection. The  sentence  was  a  fine  of  £"^,000,  two  year's  imprison- 
ment, and  to  find  security  (himself  in  c€2,000,  and  t^o  others  in 
£1,000  each)  for  his  good  behaviour  for  seven  j-ears.  It  had 
been  suggested  to,  and  discussed  by  the  Government,  whether,  to 
make  the  punishment  as  exemplary  as  possible.  Rowan  should  not 
also  be  put  in  the  pillory.  It  was  feared  that  this  would  array 
the  gentry  against  the  Crown  (the  pillory  being  a  punishment  for 
criminal  and  not  2^olitical  oftences),  and  that  the  populace  would 
not  permit  it.  So  the  idea  was  abandoned— if  ever  seriously 
entertained. 

In  April,  1*794,  Mr.  Curran  appeared  at^rogheda  Assizes  for 
I'atrick  Kenna  and  six  others,  in  a  respectable  sphere  of  lifo 
(commonly  called  "The  Drogheda  Defenders"),  for  seditiously 
conspiring  to  raise  a  levy  war  and  insurrection  against  the  King. 
They  were  acquitted,  whereupon  the  Crown  withdrew  their 
indictments  against  other  persons. 

In  May,  1794,  when  the  proprietors  of  the  Northern  Star  (a 
Belfast  liberal  paper)  were  proset'Utetl  foi  publishino-  "  wicked  and 
seditious  libels,"  as  many  as  seven  informations  were  filed,  but  only 
0!;e  brought  to  trial.  Curran,  for  the  defence,  raised  the  point  that 
thei'e  was  no  evidence  that  twelve  of  them  were  guilty  of  a  deed  not 
done  by  themselves.  The  sole  printer  (John  Rabb)  was  convicted  ; 
all  the  rest,  by  direction  of  the  court,  were  acquitted.  The  defence 
of  Rabb  was  that  the  publication  was  no  libel.  The  mere  cost  of 
till'  license  (£10  in  each  case)  for  Mr.  Curran,  the  Kitig's  Counsel, 
to  plead  against  the  Crown,  on  the  seven  informations,  was  £70. 

In  June,  1794,  Doctor  William  Drennan,  who,  as  Chairman  of 
tho  meeting  of  Volunteers,  had  signed  the  Counter-proclamation, 
for  issuing  which  (as  Secretary)  Rowan  had  been  tried,  convicted, 
liTied  and  imprisoned,  was  put  on  his  trial  for  having  published  th;'.l 
^(.cnmciii,  which  was  declared  to  be  "a  seditious  hbel."  Lord  Clon- 
mel,  Mr.  Justice  (afterwards  Lord)  Downes  and  Mr.  Justice  Cham- 

8* 


IT'S  LIFE  OF   CtJRRAN. 

berlain  were  tlie  judges.  Sir  John  Trail,  was  objeoted  o  by  Mr. 
Curran — on  tlie  g'xund  that  lie  had  formed  an  opinion  on  tlie 
subject  of  the  v)ics3cution.  The  Crown-Lawyer  not  allowing  him 
to  be  swdrn  tc  ascertain  the  truth  of  this,  from  his  own  lips,  the 
Knight  was  sworn  on  the  jury  and  became  its  foreman.  The 
evidence  was  inconclusive,  weak,  and  insufficient.  Curran 
addressed  the  jury  at  considerable  length.  The  I'rime  Sergeant 
i-eplied  angi-ily.  The  judges  charged  hostilely.  The  jury  returned 
a  verdict  of  "Not  guilty,"  and  when  this  was  received  with 
applause,  Trail  (the  foreman),  called  the  spectators  "  an  unruly 
and  seditious  rabble,"  adding  the  regret  of  the  jury  "  at  seeing  a 
ci-iminal  they  cannot  reach  —  and  guilt  which  they  cannot 
punish."]* 

In  the  beginning  of  the  year  1795,  Lord  FitzvdlHam  ha^-ing 
become  Viceroy  of  Ireland,  Mr.  Curran  was  upon  the  point  of 
beinff  raised  to  the  situation  of  Solicitor-General;  but  the 
sudden  recall  of  that  nobleman  defeated  this,  as  well  as  many 
other  projected  changes. 

It  should  be  mentioned  here,  that  from  the  year  1789,  frequent 
attempts  T^ere  made  by  the  adherents  of  the  Administration  jo 
detach  Mr.  Curran  from  the  party  which  he  had  formally  joined,  at 
that  period,  Every  motive  of  personal  ambition  was  held  out  to 
allure  him,  and  all  the  influence  of  private  solicitations  exerted,  but 
in  vain.  About  this  time,  when -the  general  panic  was  daily  thin- 
ning the  ranks  of  the  Opposition,  his  most  intimate  and  attached 
friend,  the  late  Lord  Kilwarden  (then  the  Attorney-General) 
frequently  urged  him  to  separate  himself  from  a  hopeless  cause, 
and    to    accept   the    rewards   and   honours   that  Avere    so    open 


*  Dr.  Drennan,  the  accused,  was  the  author  of  "  Letters  of  Orellana,  .in  Iri^sh 
Helot,"  In  a  Belfast  paper,  in  which  he  strenuously  urged  the  necessity  of  Parliamentary 
Reform,  lie  was  one  of  the  earliest  and  most  zealous  promoters  of  the  Society  of  United 
Irishmen,  and  author  of  the  well-known  test  of  their  confederacy.  He  wrote  some 
admirable  Letters  to  Pitt  and  Fox  against  the  Union.  In  the  song  of  "  Erin  to  her  own 
tune  ?"  be  first  spoke  of  Ireland  as  "  the  Emerald  Isle."  Who  has  not  heard  his  "  When 
Krin  first  rose."    He  died  in  1820.— M. 


.tackson's  tktal.  170 

to  him..  Upon  one  occasion,  when  Mr.  Currat  was  coufinerl 
by  iii:.ios.s  to  his  bed,  that  gentleman  \'isited  hii  ,  and  renew- 
ing tlie  subject,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  implored  liim  to  consult 
his  interest  and  his  safety :  "  I  tell  you  (said  Mi-.  Wolfe)  that  you 
have  attached  yourself  to  a  desperate  faction,  that  will  aban- 
don you  at  last ;  Avith  whom  you  have  nothing  to  expect  but  dan- 
ger and  disappointment.  With  us,  how  different  woidd  bo  your 
condition — I  ask  for  no  painful  stipidations  on  your  part,  only  say 
that  you  would  accept  of  office — my  situation  will  probably  soon 
be  vacant  for  you,  and  after  that,  the  road  would  be  clear  before 
you."  This  proof  of  private  affection  caused  Mr.  Curran  to  weep, 
but  he  was  unshalvcn.  He  replied,  "that  he  knew,  better 
than  his  friend  could  do,  the  men  with  whom  he  was  associated  ; 
that  they  were  not  a  desperate  faction  ;  that  their  cause  was  that 
of  Ireland,  and  that  even  though  it  should  eventually  be  branded 
with  the  indelible  stigma  of  feilure,  he  should  never  regret 
that  it  was  with  such  men,  and  such  a  cause,  that  he  had  linked  his 
final  destinies." 


TRIAL    OF    THE    REV.   W.    JACKSON. 

The  next  state  trial  of  importance  in  which  Mr.  Curran  was 
engaged,  was  that  of  Mr.  William  Jackson,  a  case  of  which  some 
of  the  attendinof  circumstances  were  so  sino-ular,  that  thev  cannot 
l)e  omitted  here. 

Mr.  Jackson  was  a  clergyman  of  the  established  church ;  he 
was  a  native  of  Ireland,  but  had  for  several  years  resided  out  of 
that  country.  A  part  of  his  life  was  spent  in  the  family  of  the 
noted  Duchess  of  Kingston,  and  he  is  said  to  have  been  the  per- 
son who  condiu^ted  that  lady's  controversy  with  the  celebrated 
Foote.*  At  the  period  of  the  French  Revolution,  he  passed  over 
Paris,  where   he    formed    political    connections   with  the   ruling 

♦  Foote.  at  the  close  of  liis  letter  to  her  Griicc,  observes  :  "pray,  madam,  is  not  J n 


ISO  LTFR   OF   CITRRAN. 

powers  there:  from  France  be  returned  to  London  in  1794,  for 
the  purpose  of  procuring  information  as  to  tlie  practicability  of  an 
invasion  of  England,  and  was  thence  to  proceed  to  Ireland  on  a 
similar  mission.  Upon  his  arrival  iv  Tjondon,  he  renewed  an  inti- 
macy with  a  person  named  Cockajme,  who  bad  formerly  been  his 
frieiid  and  confidential  attorney.  The  Extent  of  his  commimica- 
tions,  in  the  first  instance,  to  Cockayne  did  not  exactly  appear ;  tho 
latter,  however,  was  prevailed  iipon  to  write  the  directions  of  seve- 
ral of  Jackson's  letters,  containing  treasonable  matters,  to  his  cor- 
respondents abroad  ;  but  in  a  little  time,  either  suspecting  or 
repenting  that  he  had  been  furnishing  evidence  of  treason  against 
himself,  he  revealed  to  the  British  minister,  Mr.  Pitt,  all  that  he 
knew  or  conjectured  relative  to  Jackson's  objects.  By  the  desire  ol 
Mr.  Pitt,  Cockayne  accompanied  Jackson  to  Ireland,  to  watch  and 
defeat  his  designs,  and  as  soon  as  the  evidence  of  his  treason  was 
mature,  announced  himself  as  a  Avitness  for  the  Cro^vm.  Mr. 
Jackson  was  accordingly  aiTested,  and  committed  to  stand  his 
trial  for  high  treason. 

It  did  not  appear  that  he  had  been  previously  connected  with 
any  of  the  political  fraternities  then  so  prevalent  in  Ireland,  but 
some  of  them  took  so  deep  an  interest  in  his  fate,  that  the  night 
before  his  trial,  four  persons  of  inferior  condition,  members  of 
those  societies,  formed  a  plan  (which,  however,  proved  abortive) 
to  seize  and  carry  off  Cockayne,  and  perhaps  to  dispatch  him,  in 
order  to  deprive  the  Government  of  the  benefit  of  his  testimony.* 

Mr.  Jackson  was  committed  to  prison  in  April,  1*794,  but  his 


the  name  of  your  female  confidential  secretary  ?"  and  afterwards,  "  that  you  may  never 
want  the  henefit  of  clergy  in  every  emergency,  is  the  wish  of  Yours,  &o." — C. 

*  Trial  of  John  Leary  for  high  treason,  Dec.  2Sth,  1795.  This  fact  car  .e  out  on  ttie 
cross  examination  of  Lawler,  an  informer,  and  the  witness  against  the  prisoner  in  this 
case.  Lawler  was  one  of  the  party  that  wag  to  have  seized  Cocliayue  :  he  did  n  t  actually 
admit  that  he  was  to  have  been  assassinated;  but  he  allowed  that  the  objection  to  sucli 
a  measure  was,  "  that  if  Cocl<ayne  were  put  to  death,  and  the  court  should  know  it,  ths 
informations  he  had  given  could  be  read  in  evidence  against  Jackson."  From  the  cha- 
racter of  Lawler,  however,  it  was  generally  suspected  that  assassinatior  was  inten- 
ded.—C. 


Jackson's  tkial.  181 

trial  was  delayed,  by  successive  adjournments,  till  the  same  mouth 
in  the  following  year.  In  the  interval,  he  wrote  and  published  a 
refutation  of  Paine's  Age  of  Reason,  probably  in  the  hope  that  it 
might  be  accepted  as  an  atonement.* 

[The  trial  took  place  on  April  23,  IV&S.  The  judges  were  Lord 
Clonmel,  Mr.  Justice  Downes,  Mr.  Justice  Chamberlain.  The  prin- 
cipal witness  was  Cockayne,  the  spy.  Curran,  who  defended 
Jackson,  principally  relied  on  the  fact  tha..  no  conviction  for  high 
treason  coidd  take  place  in  England  with  two  witnesses  to  the 
facts,  wliereas  it  was  thus  attempted,  in  Ireland^  to  convict  on  the 
evidence  of  one.  The  anomaly  was  not  removed  until  1854,  when 
the  law  was  made  the  same  in  both  countries. 

The  trial  lasted  until  four  in  the  morning,  when  Jackson  was 


*  Examples  of  honourable  conduct,  no  matter  by  whom  displayed,  are  heard  with  plea- 
sure by  every  friend  to  human  nature.  Of  such,  a  very  rare  instance  was  given  by  this 
gentleman  during  his  imprisonment.  For  the  whole  of  that  period  he  was  treated  with 
v\K\y  i>ossible  indulgence,  a  fact  which  is  so  creditable  to  the  Irish  Government,  that  it 
would  be  unjust  to  suppress  it.  Among  the  other  acts  of  lenity  extended  to  him,  was  a 
pirmission  to  enjoy  the  society  of  his  friends.  A  sho.t  time  before  his  trial,  one  of 
these  remained  with  him  to  a  very  late  hour  of  the  night :  when  he  was  about  to  depart, 
]Mr.  Jackson  accompanied  him  as  far  as  the  place  where  the  gaoler  usually  waited  on  such 
occasions,  until  all  his  prisoner's  visitors  should  have  retired.  They  found  the  gaoler  in  a 
profound  sleep,  and  the  keys  cf  tlie  prison  lying  betiie  bim.  "  Poor  fellow  1"  said  Mr. 
Jackson,  taking  up  the  keys,  "  let  us  not  disturb  him ;  I  have  already  been  too  trouble- 
fonie  to  him  in  tliis  way."  He  accordingly  proceeded  with  his  friend  to  the  outer  door  of 
the  prison,  which  he  opened.  Here  the  facility  of  escaping  naturally  struck  him— he 
became  deeply  agitated  ;  but  after  a  moment's  pause,  '^  J  could  do  it,"  said  he,  "but 
what  would  be  the  consequence  to  you,  and  to  the  poor  fellow  within,  who  has  been  so 
kind  to  me  ?  No  !  let  me  rather  meet  my  fate."  xJs  said  no  more,  but  locking  the  prison 
door  again,  returned  to  his  apartment.  It  shculd  Vs  added  that  the  genUeman,  out  of 
consideration  for  whom  such  an  opportunity  vas  stojiflced,  gave  a  proof  upon  this  occasion 
that  he  deserved  it.  He  was  fully  aware  of  the  hg&l  cor.5t<iuonces  of  aiding  in  the  escape 
of  ft  prisoner  committed  under  a  char„-e  of  hitjh  treason,  and  felt  that  in  the  present 
instance,  it  would  have  been  utterly  impossible  fcr  aim  to  disprove  the  circumstantial 
evidence  that  would  have  appeared  against  Lira;  yet  he  never  uttered  a  syllable  to 
dissuade  his  unfortunate  friend.  He,  however,  sonsidcred  the  temptation  to  be  so  irrcsist- 
abb  that,  expecting  to  find  the  prisoner,  upon  further  rellection,  availing  himself  of  it,  he 
-emained  all  night  outside  the  prison  door,  iviih  tLo  intention,  if  Mr.  Jackson  shouW 
escape,  of  instantly  flying  from  Ireland. — 0. 


182  Lli'E   OF   OUKKAN. 

convicted.     He  was  J)i'Ouglit  up  for  judgment  on  the  30tli  April, 
1795*] 

It  is  at  this  stage  of  the  proceedings  that  the  case  of  Jackson 
becomes  terribly  peculiar.  Never,  perhaps,  did  a  British  court  of 
justice  exhibit  a  spectacle  of  such  appalling  interest  as  was  wit- 
nessed by  the  King's  Benct  of  Ireland,  upon  tne  day  that  this  un- 
fortunate gentleman  was  summoned  to  hear  his  fate  pronounced. 
He  had  a  day  or  two  before  made  some  allusions  to  the  subject  of 
suicide.  In  a  conversation  with  his  counsel  in  the  prison,  he  had 
observed  to  them  that  his  food  was  always  cut  in  pieces  before  it 
was  brought  to  him,  the  gaoler  not  venturing  to  trust  him  with  a 
knife  or  fork.  This  precaution  he  ridiculed,  and  cbserved,  "  that 
the  man  who  ^eared  not  death,  could  never  want  the  means  of 
dying,  and  that  as  long  as  his  head  was  within  reach  of  the  prison- 
wall,  he  could  prevent  his  body's  being  suspended  to  scare  the 
community."  At  the  moment,  they  regarded  this  as  a  mere  cajsual 
ebullition,  and  did  not  give  it  much  attention. 

On  the  morning  of  the  30th  of  April,  as  one  of  these  gentlemen 
was  proceeding  to  Court,  he  met  in  the  streets  a  person  Avarmly 
fittached  to  the  Government  of  the  day ;  the  circumstance  is  tri- 
vial, but  it  marks  the  party  spirit  that  prevailed,  and  the  manner 
In  which  it  was  sometimes  expressed :  "  I  have  (said  he)  just  seen 
your  client,  Jackson,  pass  by  on  his  way  to  the  King's  Bench  to 
receive  sentence  of  death.  I  always  said  he  was  a  coward,  and  I 
jind  I  was  not  mistaken ;  his  fears  have  made  him  sick — as  the 
(;oHch  drove  by,  I  observed  him  with  his  head  out  of  the  window, 
vomiting  violently."  The  other  hurried  on  to  the  Court,  where  he 
found  his  client  supporting  himself  against  the  dock ;  his  frame 
was  in  a  state  of  \'ioleut  perturbation,  but  his  mind  was  still  col- 

*  The  report  of  Mr.  Cunan's  defe^ee  of  Jaskson  will  be  found  in  the  lately  published 
volume  of  Howell's  Slate  Trials.  It  ^ras  (as  he  observed  himself)  "a  narrow  case,"  and 
afforded  few  materials  for  the  dipn'.ay  of  eloquence.  The  principal  points  which  be  urged 
were  the  necessity  of  two  witne'^es  (as  in  England)  and  the  impeached  character  of  tho 
single  witness,  CVvkayne. — 0. 


STJICIDE    OF    A   CONVICT.  183 

lected.  He.beckoued  to  bis  counsel  to  approach  him,  and  making 
au  effort  to  squeeze  him  with  his  damp  and  nerveless  hand,  uttered 
in  a  whisper,  and  with  a  smile  of  mournful  triumph,  the  dying 

words  of  Pierre : 

""We  have  deceived  the  senate."* 

The  prisoner's  counsel  having  detected  what  they  conceived  to 
be  a  legal  informality  in  the  proceedings,  intended  to  make  a  mo- 
tion in  arrest  of  his  judgment;  but  it  would  have  been  irregular 
to  do  so  until  the  counsel  for  th;  Crown,  who  had  not  yet  appeared, 
should  first  pray  the  judgment  of  Lhe  court  upon  him.  During 
the  interval,  the  violence  of  the  prisoner's  indisposition  momenta- 
lily  increased,  and  the  Chief  Justice,  Lord  Clomnel,  was  speakiisg 
of  remanding  him,  when  the  Attornoy  General  came  in,  and  called 
upon  the  court  to  pronounce  judgment  upon  him.  Accordingly, 
"  the  Reverend  William  Jackson  was  set  forward,"  and  presented 
a  spectacle  equally  shocking  and  affecting.  His  body  was  in  a 
state  of  profuse  perspiration ;  when  his  hat  was  removed,  a  dense 
steam  was  seen  to  ascend  from  his  head  and  temples ;  minute  and 
irregular  movements  of  convulsions  were  passing  to  and  fro  upon 
Lis  countenance ;  his  eyes  were  nearly  closed,  and  when  at  inter- 
\-als  they  opened,  discovered  by  the  glare  of  death  upon  them,  that 
the  hour  of  dissolution  was  at  hand.  When  called  on  to  stand  up 
before  the  Court,  he  collected  the  remnant  of  his  force  to  hold 
himself  erect;  but  the  attempt  was  tottering  and  imperfect;  he 
stood  rocking  from  side  to  side,  with  his  arms  in  the  attitude  of 
firmness,  crossed  over  his  breast,  and  his  countenance  strained  by 
a  last  proud  effort  into  an  expression  of  elaborate  composure.  In 
this  condition  he  faced  all  the  anger  of  the  offended  law,  and  the 
more  confounding  gazes  of  the  assembled  crowd.  The  Clerk  of 
the  Crown  now  ordered  him  to  hold  up  his  right  hand ;  the  dy- 
ing man  disentangled  it  from  the  othor,  and  held  it  up,  but  it 
instantly  di'opped  again  !  Such  was  liis  state,  when  in  the  solemn 
simplicity  of  the  language  of  the  law,  he  was  asked,  "  Wliat  he 

*  Otway's  Venice  Preserved. 


18i  7^lbE   Ui<'   UUKKAN. 

had  now  to  say  wliy  judgment  of  ceatli  and  execution  thereon, 
should  not  be  awarded  r;gainst  him  according  to  law?"  Upon 
this  Mr.  Curran  rose,  and  addressed  some  arguihents  to  the  Court 
in  arrest  of  judgment.  A  legal  discussion  of  considerable  length 
ensued.  The  condition  of  Mr.  Jackson  was  all  this  while  becom- 
ing worse.  Mr.  Curran  propo.^ed  that  he  should  be  remanded,  as 
he  was  in  a  state  of  body  that  rendered  any  communication  be- 
tween him  and  his  counsel  'mpracticable.  Lord  Clonmel  thought 
it  lenity  to  the  prisoner  to  dispose  of  the  question  as  speedily  as 
possible.  The  windows  of  the  Court  were  thrown  open  to  relieve 
hijn,  and  the  discussion  was  renewed ;  but  the  fatal  group  of  death 
tokens  were  now  collecting  fast  around  him  ;  he  was  evidently  in 
the  final  agony.  At  length,  while  Mr.  Ponsonby,  who  followed 
Mr,  Curran,  was  urging  further  reasons  for  arresting  the  judgment, 
their  client  sunk  in  the  dock* 

The  conclusion  of  the  scene  is  j^iven  as  follows  in  the  reported 
trial. 

Lord  Clonmel — "  If  the  prisoner  is  in  a  state  of  insensibility,  it 
is  impossible  that  I  can  pronounce  the  judgment  o^  the  Court 
upon  him." 

Mr.  Thomas  Kinsley,  who  was  in  the  jury  box,  said  ne  would 
go  down  to  him  ;  he  accordingly  went  into  the  dock,  and  in  a 
short  time  informed  the  Court  that  the  prisoner  was  certainly  dying. 

By  order  of  the  court,  Mr.  Kinsley  was  sworn. 

*  As  soon  as  Uie  cause  of  Mr.  Jackson's  cleath  was  ascertained,  a  report  prevailed  Uiat 
his  counsel  liad  been  previously  in  the  secret,  and  that  their  motion  in  arrest  of  judgnie>il 
was  made  for  the  sole  purpose  of  giving  their  client  time  to  expire  before  sentence  could 
be  passed  upon  him  :  but  for  the  assertion  of  this  fact,  which,  if  true,  would  have  placed 
them  in  as  strange  and  awful  a  situation  as  can  well  be  imagined,  there  was  no  founda- 
tion. So  little  prepared  were  they  for  such  an  event,  that  neither  of  his  assigned  counsel 
(Messrs.  Curran  and  Ponsonby)  appeared  in  court  until  a  considerable  time  after  the  pri- 
soner had  been  brought  up.  It  was  Mr.  M'Na'.ly,  w?  o  had  been  one  of  his  assistant  coun- 
sel upon  the  trial,  and  who  found  him  in  the  condition  above  described,  that  first  becamb 
acquainted  with  the  fact  of  his  having  taken  poison ;  and  he,  at  the  request  of  the  unfor- 
tunate prisoner,  rose  as  dyniciis  curi'jD,  for  tbo  purj-ose  of  occupying  the  court  till  thv 
others  should  arrive  and  make  their  intended  mot!cn.  It  was  probably  from  this  circum 
stance  that  the  report  originated. — C. 


A   T14AGEDY    IN    CCiBT.  185 

Lord  Clonmel — "  Are  you  in  any  profe  .sion  5" 

Mr.  Kinsley — "  I  am  an  apothecary." 

Lord  Clonmel — "  Can-  you  speak  with  certainty  of  the  state  of 
the  prisoner  ?" 

Mr.  Kinsley — "  I  can  ;  T  think  him  "c:*ging  to  eternity." 

Lord  Clonmel — "Do  you  think  hir?  capable  of  hearing  his 
judgment  ?" 

Mr.  Kinsley — "  I  do  not  think  he  can.*' 

Lord  Clonmel — "  Then  he  must  be  taken  away  ;  take  care  that 
in  sending  him  away  no  )nisch:ef  be  done.  Let  him  be 
remanded  uiail  further  orders ;  and  I  believe  it  as  much  for  his 
advantage  as  for  all  y.>urs  to  adjourn." 

The  Shorift    ^.formed  the  Court  that  the  prisoner  was  dead. 

Lord  Clcnmel — "  Let  an  inquisition,  and  a  respectable  one,  be 
held  oc  the  body.  You  should  carefully  inquire  by  what  means 
he  d=ed." 

The  Court  then  adjourned,  and  the  body  of  the  deceased 
remained  in  the  dock,  unmoved  from  the  position  in  which  he 
had  expired,  imtil  the  following  day,  when  an  inquest  was  held. 
(i  large  quantity  of  metallic  poison  was  found  in  his  stomach. 
The  preceding  day,  a  little  before  he  was  brought  up  to  Court, 
the  gaoler  having  visited  his  room,  found  him  with  his  wife,  much 
agitated,  and  vomiting  violently  ;  he  hail  just  taken,  he  said, 
some  tea,  which  disagreed  with  him  ;  so  that  there  remained  no 
doubt  that  the  rmfortunate  piisoner,  to  save  himself  and  his 
family  the  shame  of  an  ignominious  execution,  had  anticipated 
tlie  punishment  of  the  laws  by  taking  poison. 

The  following  sentences,  in  his  own  handwriting,  were  found 
in  hi?  pocket. 

"Turn  tlice  unto  me,  and  have  mercy  upon  me,  for  I  am  deso- 
late and  afflicted." 

"The  troubles  of  my  heart  are  enlarged;  oh,  bring  thou 
me  out  of  my  distresses." 

"  Look  upon  my  affliction  nnd  my  pain,  and  forgive  all  my  sins." 


18G  LIFE   OF   CURRAJr. 

"  Oil !  keep  my  soul  and  deliver  nie.  Let  me  not  be  ashamed, 
for  I  put  my  trust  in  thee." 

Indepenient  of  this  awful  scene,  tiie  trial  of  Jackson  was 
a  memorable  event.  It  was  the  first  trial  for  high  treason  which 
had  occurred  in  that  Court  for  upwards  of  a  century.  As  a  mat- 
ter of  legal  and  of  constitutional  intereiet,  it  established  a  pre- 
cedent of  the  most  vital  (Englishmen  would  say,  of  the  most 
fatal)  importance  to  a  community  having  any  pretension  to 
freedom.  Against  the  authority  of  Coke,  and  the  reasoning 
of  Blackstone,  and  against  the  positive  reprobation  of  the  princi- 
|»le  by  the  English  legislature,  it  was  solemnly  decided  in  Jack- 
son's case,  that  in  Ireland  one  witness  was  sufficient  to  convict  a 
prisoner  upon  a  charge  of  high  treason — "that  the  breath  which 
cannot  even  taint  the  character  of  a  man  in  England,  shall 
in  Ireland  blow  him  from  the  earth."*  This  decision  has 
ever  since  been  recognised  and  acted  upon,  to  the  admiration  of 
that  class  of  politicians  (and  they  have  abounded  in  Ireland)  who 
contend  that  in  every  malady  of  the  State,  blood  should  be  plen- 
tifully drawn ;  and  to  the  honest  indignation  of  men  of  equ,;l 
capacity  and  integrity,  who  consider  that,  without  reason  or 
necessity,  it  establishes  an  odious  distinction,  involving  in  it 
a  disdain  of  what  Englishmen  boast  as  a  precious  privilege, 
alluring  accusations  upon  the  subject,  and  conferring  security  and 
omnipotence  upon  the  informer. 

It  is  a  little  singular  to  observe,  in  the  State  Trials  that  fol- 
lowed, the  effects  of  such  a  law,  and  to  what  a  class  of  witnesses 
it  familiarized  the  Irish  Courts  of  Justice.  From  the  event 
it  would  appear,  that  there  was  as  much  prophecy,  as  of  constitu- 
tional zeal,  in  Mr.  Curran's  efforts  to  prevent  its  establish- 
ment, and  afterwards  to  produce  its  repeal.f      To  say  nothing  but 

*  Ml".  Cunan's  defence  of  Jackson. — 0. 

t  Two  days  after  Jackson's  conviction,  Mr.  Curian  moved  in  the  House  of  Commons 
for  leave  to  bring  in  a  bill  for  amending  the  law  of  Ireland  in  cases  of  high  treason,  and 
assimilating  it  with  that  of  England. 

The  Attorney-Gleneral  earnestly  intreated  of  the   mover  to  postpone  the  introduction 


TBEASON    WITNESSES. 


187 


of  a  few  of  tliose  cases  in  which  he  acted  as  counsel,  the 
facts  of  Jackson,  Weldon,  M'Cann,  Byrne,  Bond,  the  Sheareses, 
Finney,  rested  almost  entirely  upon  the  credibility  of  a  sin- 
gle witness.  All  of  these,  except  the  last,  were  convicted ;  and 
that  they  were  involved  in  the  projects,  for  which  they  were  tried 
and  suffered,  is  now  a  matter  of  historical  notoriety.  Few, 
it  is  hoped,  will  maintain  the  dangerous  principle,  that  the  subject 
should   have   the    inducement    of  impunity  to    conspire  against 


ot  this  bill,  lest  it  might  throw  a  character  of  illegality  upon  Jackson's  conviction.  He 
believed  that  the  present  ditference  in  the  law  of  the  two  countries  (as  to  the  number  of 
witnesses  required)  did  not  arise  from  casual  omission,  but  from  serious  deliberation  ;  it 
was  (he  thought)  rather  necessary  to  strengthen  the  Crown  against  the  popular  crime, 
than  to  strengthen  the  criminal  against  the  Crown. 

Mr.  Curran  differed,  and  considered  the  rock  on  which  criminal  law  generally  split  was 
>ta  excessive  severity.  For  the  reason  first  assigned,  however,  he  agreed  to  postpone  the 
bill;  but  foreseeing  its  inevitable  failure,  he  never  brought  it  forward  again. 

It  England,  by  different  statutes  regulating  trials  for  high  treason,  two  v/itnesses  arc 
required.  (Algernon  Sydney's  attainder,  as  is  well  known,  was  reversed,  because,  among 
other  reasons,  there  had  been  but  one  legal  witness  to  any  act  of  treason.)  When  those 
statutes  were  enacted  in  Ireland,  the  clauses  requiring  two  witnesses  were  omitted. 
Upon  Jackson's  trial,  therefore,  the  question  was,  what  had  been  the  old  common  law  of 
England.  Lord  Coke  lays  it  down,  that  by  that  law  one  witness  was  never  sufficient. 
Judge  Foster,  differing  frum  him,  gives  it  as  his,  and  as  the  general  opinion,  that  two 
were  not  required  by  the  common  law.  Of  the  same  opinion  is  Sergeant  Hawkins. 
These  (according  to  the  report  of  Jackson's  trial)  were  the  only  authorities  referred  to 
by  Lord  Clonmcl  in  deciding  the  point.  For  the  contrariety  of  opinions  upon  this  sub- 
ject, see  the  proceedings  in  Sir  J.  Fenwick's  case.  State  Trials. 

It  cannot  be  too  much  lamented,  that  in  such  an  important  particular  the  law  of  the 
two  countries  should  thus  differ  The  principlft  cannot  be  right  in  both.  Inferior  regu- 
lations may  vary,  but  the  laws  that  provide  f-r  the  safely  of  the  State  and  the  security 
iif  the  .subject  are  not  local  ordinances  ;  they  are  general  laws,  and  should  be  founded 
on  the  principles  which  are  to  be  derived  from  an  experience  of  the  operation  of  hmiian 
passions,  and  of  the  value  of  human  testimony.  In  Ireland,  it  has  been  said,  that  from 
the  state  of  society,  the  Crown  demanded  additional  security ;  but  the  same  argument 
applies  as  strongly  the  other  way;  for  if  any  connnunity  is  in  such  a  state  of  demorali- 
sation that  its  members  are  fuuud  violating  their  oatlis,  and  indulging  their  passions  by 
frequent  acts  of  treason,  is  it  not  equally  clear  that  they  will  not  refrain  from  doing  the 
same  by  frequent  acts  of  perjured  evidence  1  Whoever  will  submit  to  the  "  penance"  of 
reading  the  English  or  Irish  State  Trials,  will  soon  i)erceive  that  treason  and  perjury  are 
always  coteniporary  crimes,  and  that  tlie  dargers  of  the  Crown  and  of  the  subject  are 
at  every  period  are  reciprocal  and  commensurate.  Certainly,  as  the  laws  at  present 
stand,  either  the  English  subject  enjoys  too  many  privileges,  or  the  Irish  too  few;  but 
that  the  former  is  not  the  case  long  experience  tas  now  incoutestably  established. — C- 


188  LIFE    OF   CUKKAN. 

tJie  State — such  a  doctrine  would  bring  instant  ruin  upon  any 
society ;  but  every  friend  to  constitutional  law  will  distin- 
guish between  the  evidence  that  precedes  a  conviction  and 
that  which  follows ;  he  will  remember  that  the  forms  of  trial,  and 
the  legality  of  evidence,  have  not  been  established  for  the 
solitary  purpose  of  punishing  the  guilty  ;  that  their  most  precious 
use  is  for  the  security  of  innocence  ;  and  that  if,  forejudging  the 
real  offender,  we  too  hastily  deprive  him  of  a  single  pri\'ilege 
of  defence,  we  establish  a  perilous  rule  that  survives  the  occasion 
and  extends  beyond  it,  and  of  which  those  who  never  offended 
may  hereafter  be  the  victims.  If  the  trials  of  the  indivi- 
duals just  named  be  considered  with  reference  to  this  view, 
they  will  be  found  to  contain  matter  of  important  reflection.  We 
may  rot  feel  justified  in  lamenting  their  personal  fate — in  giving 
to  their  memories  "  the  traitorous  humanity  and  the  rebel  tear," 
yet  we  cannot  but  be  shocked  at  the  characters  of  the  persons  by 
whose  evidence  they  were  carried  off.  These  were  all  of  them 
men  of  blighted  reputation.  It  was  not  merely  that  they  had 
been  acoomplices  in  the  crimes  which  they  came  to  denounce  ; 
and  that,  finding  the  speculation  dangerous  and  u.'\profi table,  they 
endeavoured  to  retrieve  their  credit  and  circumstances,  by 
setting  up  as  "  loyal  apostates."  Deeper  far  w  is,  if  not  their 
legal  offence,  their  moral  depravity.  Dreadfu'  were  the  con- 
fessions of  guilt,  of  dishonour,  and  irreligion  extorted  fioir. 
these  wretches.  If  their  direct  examination  produced  a  list  of  the 
prisoners'  crimes,  as  regularly  did  their  cross-examination  elicit  a 
darker  catalogue  of  their  own.  In  the  progress  of  their 
career,  from  participation  to  discoveiy,  all  the  tender  chari- 
ties of  life  were  abused — every  sacred  tie  rent  asunder.  The 
agent,  by  the  semblance  of  fidelity,  extracted  tbe  secret  of 
his  client  and  his  fiiend,  and  betrayed  him!*  The  s})y  resorted 
to  the  habitation  of  his  \ictim,  and,  while  sharing  his  hospitality, 

*  Jackson's  Trm. 


CONDITION    OF   THE   COUBTB,  189 

and  fondling  Lis  children,  was  meditating  ln&  ruin.*  Here 
was  to  be  seen  the  wild  Atheist,  who  had  gloried  in  his 
incredulity,  enjoying  a  Ir.cid  interval  of  faith,  to  stamp  a 
legal  value  on  his  oathj — there  the  dishonest  dealer,  the  acknow- 
ledged perjurer,  •^iie  future  murderer.^ 

Tt  has  been  oftei.  fi,  matter  of  surprise  that  juries  had  not  the 
tii'inness  to  spurn  altogether  the  testimony  of  such  delin- 
quents. In  England,  upor.  a  recent  occasion,§  a  jury  did  so  ;  but 
in  Ireland  tliere  raged,  st  this  time,  an  epidemic  panic.  In 
the  delirious  fe\er  of  tlu  moment,  even  though  the  juror 
might  not  have  thii'sted  for  the  blood  of  the  accused,  he 
yet  trembled  f<->r  his  own  —affrighted  l)y  actual  danger,  or  by 
the  phantoms  of  his  disturbed  imagination,  he  became  blind 
or  indifierent  to  the  horrors  of  the  immediate  scene.  The 
f|uestion  was  often  not  whether  the  witness  was  a  man  he 
could  believe,  but  whether  his  verdict  dare  assert  the  con- 
trary. Perhaps  the  more  flagitious  the'  witness,  the  more  abso- 
.  lutely  was  he  the  tyrant  of  the  juror's  conscience.  Any  move- 
ments of  humanity  or  indignation  in  the  breast  of  the  latter  must 
have  instantly  been  <|uelled   '^y  tli6   recollection,  that   to   yield 


*  Jackson's  Trial  aud  tlie  Trial  of  the  Sheareses.  A  few  days  before  Cockayne  had 
openly  announced  himself  as  an  informer,  he  was  invited  to  accompany  Jackson  to  dine 
with  a  friend  of  the  latter.  After  dinner,  as  soon  as  the  wine  had  suflScienily  circulated, 
Jackson,  according  to  a  previous  suggestion  from  Cockayne,  began  to  sound  the  politi- 
cal dispositions  of  the  com;  any,  and  particularly  addressed  himself  to  a  gentleman  of 
rank  who  sat  beside  him,  and  who,  there  was  subsequent  reason  to  believe,  was  deeply 
involved  in  the  politics  of  the  time.  During  the  conversation,  Cockayne  appeared 
to  have  fallen  asleep  ;  but,  in  the  midst  of  it,  the  master  of  the  house  was  called  out  by 
his  servant,  who  informed  him,  that  he  had  observed  something  very  singular  in  Mr. 
Jaikson's  friend— "  he  has  his  hand,*'  said  the  servant,  "  over  his  face,  and  pretends  to 
be  asleep,  but  when  I  was  in  the  room  just  now  I  could  perceive  the  glistening  of  hiaeye 
through  his  fingers."  The  gentleman  returned  to  his  guests ;  and  whispering  to  him  who 
was  conversing  with  Jackson  to  be  cautious  of  his  language,  pr9bably  prevented  some 
avowal  which  might  eventually  have  cost  him  his  life.  Upon  such  trivial  accinents  do 
tlie  fates  of  men  depend  in  agitated  times! — 0. 

t  Trial  of  the  Sheareses. — 0. 

i  Finney's  Trial ;  and  the  other  State  Trials  of  1T98.— 0. 

§  Trial  of  Watson  and  others  for  high  treason. — C. 


100  LIFE   OF   CURRAN. 

to  them  miglit  be  to  point  out  himself  as  an  object  of  suspicion, 
and  as  the  next  experiment  for  an  adventurous  and  ii-i'itated 
informer. 

It  is  in  the  same  circumstances  that  we  are  to  look  for  an  excuse 
(if  excuse  be  necessaiy)  for  those  impassioned  appeals,  for  that 
tone  of  high  and  solemn  obtestation,  by  which  Mr.  Curran's  pro- 
fessional efforts  at  this  period  are  distinguislied.  Tn  more  tranquil 
times  or  in  a  more  trancpiil  country,  such  eutlnisiasm  may  appear 
extravagant  and  unnatural ;  but  it  should  be  i-emembered,  that, 
from  the  nature  of  the  cases,  and  the  character  of  his  audience,  his 
address  often  became  rather  a  religious  exhortation  than  a  mere 
forensic  harano-ue.*  His  situation  was  verv  different  from  that 
of  the  English  advocate,  who,  presupposing  in  his  hearers  a  respect 
for  the  great  fundamental  principles  of  law  and  of  ethics,  securely 
appeals  to  them,  in  the  conviction,  that,  if  his  client  deserves  it, 
he  shall  have  all  their  benefit.  In  Ireland,  the  client  was  not 
ertain  of  all  their  benefit.  In  Ireland,  during  those  distracted 
'ays,  every  furious  passion  was  abroad.     The  Irish  advocate  knew 


*  Of  this,  examples  will  occur,  in  the  following  pages.  Upon  inferior  occasions  we  find 
nim  impressing  the  most  obvious  political  truths,  by  a  simplicity  of  illustration,  which 
shows  the  description  of  men  among  whom  he  was  thrown.  When  he  wished  to  explain 
to  a  jury,  "  that  their  country  could  never  be  prosperous,  or  happy,  without  a  general 
participation  of  happiness  to  all  its  people,"  he  tljus  pror^eeds  : — "  A  privileged  order  in  a 
state  may,  in  some  sort,  be  compared  to  a  solitary  individual  separated  from  the  society, 
and  unaided  by  the  reciprocal  converse,  affections,  or  support  of  his  fellow  men.  It  is 
like  a  tree  standing  singly  on  a  high  hill,  and  exposed  to  the  rude  concussions  of  every 
varying  blast,  devoid  of  fruit  or  foliage.  If  you  plant  trees  around  it,  to  shade  it  from  the 
inclemency  of  the  blighting  tempest,  and  secure  to  it  its  adequate  supply  of  sun  and 
moisture,  it  quickly  assumes  all  the  luxuriance  of  vegetation,  and  proudly  rears  its  head 
aloft,  fortified  against  the  noxious  gales  which  agitate  and  wither  the  unprotected  bram- 
bles lying  witlioutthe  verge  of  the  plantation.  Upon  this  principle  acted  the  dying  man, 
whose  family  had  been  disturbed  by  domestic  contentions.  Upon  his  death-bed  he  calls 
his  children  around  him  ;  he  orders  a  bundle  of  twigs  to  be  brought ;  he  has  them  untied ; 
he  gives  to  each  of  them  a  single  twig;  he  orders  them  to  be  broken,  and  it  is  done  with 
facility;  he  next  orders  the  twigs  to  be  united  in  a  bundle,  and  directs  each  of  them  to 
try  his  strength  upon  it.  They  shrink  from  the  task  as  impossible.  '  Thus,  my  children, 
(continued  the  old  man)  it  is  union  alone  that  can  render  you  secure  against  the  attempts 
of  your  enemies,  and  preserve  you  in  that  state  of  happiness  which  I  wish  you  to  enjoy.'  " 
Speech  %n  £ejence  of  Bird,  Ramil  and  others,  tried  at  Droghedj,  1794.— C. 


JUEY-PACKING.  191 

that  the  juries  with  whom  he  had  to  deal  were  often  composed 
of  men  whose  feelings  of  humanity  and  religion  were  kept  und^r 
by  their  political  prejudices — that  they  had  already  foredoomed 
his  cHent  to  the  grave — that,  bringing  with  them  the  accumulated 
animosities  of  past  centuries,  they  came  less  to  try  the  prisoner 
than  to  justify  themselves,  and  make  their  verdict  a  vote  of  appro- 
bation upon  the  politics  of  their  party.*  To  make  an  impression 
upon  such  men,  he  had  to  awaken  their  dormant  sympathies  by 
reiterated  statements  of  the  first  principles  of  morals  and  religion  : 
he  addressed  himself  to  their  eternal  fears,  his  object  being  fi-e- 
quently,  not  so  much  to  direct  their  minds  to  the  evidence  or  the 

•  The  following  observations  of  Mr.  Curran  will  give  some  idea  of  the  juries 
of  those  days :  he  is  addresing  a  jury  impanuelled  to  try  the  validity  of  a  chal- 
lenge:— 

"  This  is  no  common  period  in  the  history  of  the  world — they  are  no  ordinary  trans- 
actions that  are  now  passing  before  us.  All  Europe  is  shaken  to  its  centre;  we  feel  its 
force,  and  are  likely  to  be  involved  in  its  consequences.  There  is  no  man  who  has  sense 
enough  to  be  conscious  of  his  own  existence,  who  can  hold  himself  disengaged  and  uncon- 
cerned amidst  the  present  scenes  ;  and,  to  hear  a  man  say  that  he  is  unbiassed  and  unpre- 
judiced, is  the  surest  proof  that  he  is  both.  Prejudice  is  the  cobweb  that  catches  vulgar 
minds;  but  the  prejudicis  of  the  present  day  float  in  the  upper  regions — they  entangle  tho 
lofty  heads — they  are  bowing  them  down — you  see  them  as  they  flutter,  and  hear  them  as 

they  buzz.    Mr. has  become  a  very  public  and  a  very  active  man  ;  he  has  his  mind,  I 

doubt  not,  stored  with  the  most  useful  and  extensive  erudition — he  is  clothed  with  the  sacred 
office  of  a  minister  of  the  Gospel — he  is  a  magistrate  of  the  county — he  is  employed  as  agent 
to  some  large  properties — he  is  reputably  connected,  and  universally  esteemed,  and  there- 
fore is  a  man  of  no  small  weight  and  consideration  in  this  countrj'.  lie  has  more  than  once 
positively  sworn  that  he  has  applied  to  the  high  sheriff — that  he  struck  off  no  names  but 
those  that  wanted  freeholds  ;  but  to-day,  he  finds  that  freeholders  were  struck  off  by  his 
own  pen — he  tells  you,  my  lords,  and  gentlemen  triers,  with  equal  modesty  and  ingenuity, 
that  he  has  made  a  mistake — he  returns  eighty-one  names  to  the  sheriff — he  receires 
blank  summonses,  fills  what  he  deems  convenient,  Ac.  Gracious  heaven  !  what  are  tho 
courts  of  justice?  what  is  trial  by  jury  ?  what  is  the  country  brought  to?  Were  it  told 
in  the  courts  above — were  it  told  in  other  countries — were  it  told  in  Westminster  Hall,  th:vi 
such  a  man  was  permitted  to  return  nearly  one  half  of  the  grand  panel  of  the  county 
from  one  particular  district, — a  district  under  severe  distress, — to  which  he  is  agent  and 
on  which,  with  the  authority  he  possesses,  he  Is  able  to  bring  gi-eat  calamity  1  He  ascends 
the  pulpit  with  the  Gospel  of  benignity  and  peace— he  endeavours  to  impress  himself  and 
others  with  its  meek  and  holy  spirit :— he  descends— throws  off  the  purple — seizes  tho 
insurrection  act  in  tho  one  hand,  and  the  whip  in  the  other — flies  by  night  and  by  day 
after  his  game  ;  and,  with  his  heart  panting,  his  breath  exhausted,  and  his  belly  on  tho 
ground  in  the  chase,  lie  turns  round,  .and  tells  you  that  his  mind  is  unprejudiced — thai 
his  breast  is  full  of  softness  and  humanity."— ZJowre  Aamsen,  1795.— C. 


192  LIFE   OF   CURRAN. 

law,  as  to  remind  them  of  the  Christian  duties ;  and  even  in  those 
cases,  where  both  law  and  fact  were  upon  his  side,  and  where, 
under  other  circumstances,  he  might  have  boldly  demanded  an 
acquittal,  he  was  in  reality  labouring  to  extort  a  pardon. 

It  was  with  the  same  view  that  he  so  often  made  the  most  im- 
passioned appeals,  even  to  the  Bench,  when  he  saw  that  its  politi- 
cal feelings  were  hostile  to  the  interests  of  his  client.  Thus,  upon 
the  trial^of  Hamilton  Rowan,  the  principal  witness  for  the  Crown, 
having  deposed  that  he  had  seen  Mr.  Rowan  at  a  meeting  of 
United  Irishmen,  consisting  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  persons,  and 
his  evidence  upon  this  most  majterial  fact  having  been  impeached, 
the  Chief  Justice  (Lord  Clonmel),  in  his  charge  to  the  jury,  ob- 
served, "  One  hundred  and  fifty  Volunteers,  or  United  Mshmen, 
and  not  one  comes  forward !  Many  of  them  would  have  been 
jjroud  to  assist  him  (the  traverser).  Tlieir  silence  speaks  a  thou- 
sand times  more  strongly  than  any  cavilling  upon  this  manh  credit 
— the  silence  of  such  a  number  is  a  volume  of  evidence  in  support 
of  the  prosecution.''^  *     Upon  a  motion  for  a  new  trial,  Mr.  Cur- 

*  This  passage  of  Lord  Clonmel's  charge  was  omitted,  and,  no  doubt,  designedly,  in  the 
original  edition  of  Hamilton  Rowan's  trial,  published  in  Dublin. — C. 

Lord  Clonmel,  for  many  years  Chief  Justice  of  the  King's  Bench  in  Ireland,  was  a  man 
whose  mind  and  form  were  very  coarse.  He  had  risen  from  a  low  origin  to  great  wealth 
and  high  station,  but  never  looked  like  a  gentleman.  His  manners  were  coarse.  His 
api  earance  was  peculiar — his  face  was  the  color  of  the  scailet  robe  which  he  wore,  as 
.Tuige,  and  literally  "flared  up"  (so  rubicund  was  it)  when  he  got  into  a  passion,  which 
was  about  once  in  every  twenty  minutes.  He  and  Curran  did  not  agree.  At  the  bar, 
when  both  were  young,  tliey  had  had  several  wordy  contests,  in  which  Curran  succeeded. 
Tills  was  never  forgotten  by  his  opponent  when  a  Judge.  It  is  related  that  on  one  occa- 
sion the  noble  lord  was  so  pressed  both  by  the  argument,  the  eloquence,  and  the  wit  of 
?.;r.  Curran,  that  he  lost  temper,  and  called  on  the  sheriffs  to  be  ready  to  take  any  one 
into  arrest  who  would  be  found  so  contemptuously  presuming  to  fly  into  the  face  of  the 
court.  Mr.  Curran,  perceiving  the  twittering  of  a  swallow  actively  in  pursuit  of  flies,  in 
his  turn  called  on  the  sheriti's  to  take  that  swallow  into  arrest,  for  it  was  guilty  of  con- 
tempt, as  it  had  contemptuously  presumed  ioJl>/  in  the  face  of  the  court.  The  ridicule  of 
this,  and  the  peals  of  laughter  which  ensued,  closed  the  scene.  On  some  contested  argu- 
ment in  the  Court  of  King's  Bench,  Lord  Clonmel,  who  was  said  to  have  a  stronger  dash 
of  the  overbearing  than  of  the  brave,  stood  out  against  Mr.  Curran  with  a  brow-beating 
vehemence,  and  showed  a  determination  to  have  things  entirely  in  his  own  way.  Ha 
made  repeated  but  ineffectual  efforts  to  reduce  Mr.  Curran,  or  (as  the  phrase  is  used)  to 
put  him  down.     He,  however,  withstood  all   the  violence  of  those  attempts,  and  the 


SNAKL    WlTir    A    JUDGE.  193 

l-an,  in  comuieiiting  upon  those  expressions,  could  not  ref  Ju  from 
exclaiming,  "  I  never  before  heard  an  intimation  from  any  judge 
to  a  jury,  that  bad  evidence,  liable  to  any  and  every  exception, 
ought  to  receive  a  sanction  from  the  silence  of  the  party.  With 
anxiety  for  the  honour  and  religion  of  the  law,  I  demand  it  of 
you,  must  not  the  jury  have  understood  tJiat  this  silence  was  evi- 
dence to  go  to  them  ?  Is  the  meaning  contained  in  the  expression 
'  a  volume  of  evidence'  only  an  insinuation  ?  I  do  not  know  where 
any  man  could  be  safe — I  do  not  know  what  any  man  could  do  t ) 
screen  hiinself  from  prosecution — I  know  not  how  he  could  be 
secure,  even  when  he  was  at  prayers  before  the  throne  of  Heaven, 
thrtl  he  was  not  passing  that  moment  of  his  life,  in  which  he  waf. 
ic  c  e  cnarged  with  the  commission  of  some  crime  to  be  expiated 
to  society,  by  the  loss  of  his  libertv  or  of  his  life — I  do  not  know 
what  shall  become  of  the  subject,  if  the  jury  are  to  be  told  that 
the  silence  of  a  man  charged  is  '  a  volume  of  evidence  that  he  is 
guilty  of  the  crime.'  Where  is  it  written  ?  I  know  there  is  a 
place  where  vulgar  phrensy  cries  out  that  the  public  instrument 
must  be  drenched  in  blood-^where  defence  is  gagged,  and  the  de- 
voted wretch  must  perish.  But  even  there  the  \actini  of  such 
tyranny  is  not  made  to  fill,  by  voluntary  silence,  the  defects  of  his 
accusation ;  for  his  tongue  is  tied,  and  therefore  no  jid vantage  is 
taken  of  him  by  construction  :  it  cannot  be  there  said  that  his  not 
speaking  is  'a  volume  of  evidence'  to  prove  his  guilt."  After 
some  farther  observations,  he  thus  concluded  his  arguments : 
"  You  are  standing  on  a  narrow  isthmus,  that  divides  the  great 
ocean  of  duration — on  the  one  side  of  the  past,  on  the  other  of  the 

encounter  was  upheld  with  all  that  passion  could  supply,  or  courage  hope  to  extinguish. 
Mr.  Curra^i  looked,  and  lighted  up  all  the  fire  of  his  mighty  eye,  surveyed  his  adversary 
with  the  most  intense  and  indignant  scowl,  such  as  would  have  pierced  through  all 
impediments;  while  the  red  and  inflamed  countenance  of  the  Judge,  with  the  menace  and 
atiitude  of  an  overwhelming  passion,  kindled  into  a  burning  blaze.  With  a  firm,  calm, 
and  measured  tone,  Mr.  Curran  addressed  him,  and  whilst  he  did  so,  he  seemed  armed 
with  the  bolt  of  heaven,  ready  to  hurl  destruction  on  his  victim.  After  some  prelude,  he 
concluded  his  address  in  these  words:  "Does  your  lord.^hip  tliink  I  am  that  -\Uy  dug  to 
bay  that  moon — to  bay  iJtat  moon — which  I  am  not  able  to  extinguish?" — M. 

9 


194  LIFE    OF   CITRKAN. 

future — a  ground  that,  while  you  yet  hear  me,  is  washed  from 
beneath  your  feet.  Let  me  remind  you,  my  lords,  while  your  de- 
termination is  yet  in  your  power — dum  versatur  adhuc  inb'a  pene- 
tralia Ffste— that  on  the  ocean  of  the  future  you  must  set  your 
judgment  afloat;  and  future  ages  will  assume  the  same  authority 
which  you  have  assumed ;  posteiity  will  feel  the  same  emotions 
which  you  have  felt,  when  your  little  hearts  have  beaten,  and 
your  infant  eyes  have  overflowed  at  reading  the  sad  story  of  the 
sufferings  of  a  Russel  or  a  Sydney." 

All  this  has  been  represented  as  very  strange,  and  even  absurd, 
by  those  who  would  not  reflect  up<m  the  state  of  the  times,  and 
the  necessity  which  it  imposed  upon  the  advocate  of  addressing 
the  passions  which  he  knew  to  be  actuating  his  hearers,  do  matter 
to  what  order  of  the  community  they  might  belong. 


CATIIOLTC   EMANCIPATION'  195 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Cailiolic  Emancipation — Mr.  Curran  moves  an  address  to  the  Tlirone  for  an  inquiry  into 
tlie  state  of  the  poor— Other  Parliamentary  questions— Mr.  Ponsonliy's  plan  of  Relorm 
rejected— Secession  of  Mr.  Curran  and  his  friends — Orr's  trial— Finnerty's  trial— Fin- 
ney's Trial — Tlie  informer,  James  O'Brien. 

[On  May  4,  1795,  a  sharp  debate  took, place  in  the  Irish  Com- 
mons, on  the  second  reading  of  a  Cathohc  Emancipation  Bill, 
which  had  been  introduced,  during  the  preceding  January,  under 
the  liberal  auspices  of  Lord  Fitzvvilliam,  the  new  and  liberal 
Viceroy.  lUit  George  III.  was  determined  not  to  admit  his 
lioman  (Catholic  subjects  to  the  enjoyment  of  civil  rights,  and  the 
loo  liberal  Viceroy  was  recalled.  The  Irish  Commons,  on  the 
strength  of  the  Emancipation  Bill  being  a  fact,  had  liberally  voted 
large  supplies  for  carrying  on  the  war  then  raging  between  France 
and  England.  'J'he  money  received,  the  Irish  Government  threw 
o\ier  the  Catholics,  and  the  second  reading  of  the  Emancipation 
r)ill  was  lost — there  being  155  votes  against  and  84  for  it.  Mr. 
Curran  supported  the  mea.sure,  and  defended  the  character  and 
conduct  of  Lord  Fitzwilliam.]  , 

In  May,  1795,  Mr.  Curran  moved  an  address  to  the  throne 
upon  the  distresses  of  Ireland,  the  recall  of  Lord  Fitzwilliam,  and 
the  misconduct  of  his  Majesty's  ministers  in  their  government  of 
Ireland.  It  was  not  expected,  by  the  opposition,  that  this  motion 
would  be  carried  :  their  object  in  bringing  it  forM^ard  was  merely 
to  leave  a  record  of  their  opinions  upon  the  subjects  contained  in 
tJie  address.*     Mr.  Curran  prefaced  his  motion  by  a  long  speech, 

*  This  address,  after  a  few  prefatory  clauses  stating  the  attachment  of  the  Commons  to 
his  Majesty's  person,  and  the  monarcliical  form  of  government,  and  their  late  extraordi- 
nary supplies  for  carrying  on  the  present  most  eventful  war,  proceeds — 

That  we  were  the  more  induced  to  tliis,  from  a  zeal  for  his  Majesty's  service,  and  aa 


196  •  TJFE   OF   CURRAN. 

in  the  course  of  which  lie  emphatically  warned  the  House  of  the 
dangers  that  impended  over  the  public  tranquillity ;  but  upon  this, 
as  upon  many  former  occasions,  his  predictions  were  disregarded. 
"  I  know,"  said  he,  "  that  this  is  not  a  time  when  the  passions  of 
the  public  ought  to  be  inflamed ;  nor  do  I  mean  to  inflame  them 
{murmurs  from  the  other  side  of  the  House).  Yes,  I  speak  not  to 
inflame ;  but  I  address  you  in  order  to  allay  the  fever  of  the  pub- 
lic mind.  If  I  had  power  to  warn  you,  I  would  exert  that  power 
in  order  to  diminish  the  public  ferment — in  order  to  show  the 


attachment  to  Great  Britain  ;  but  accompanied  with  an  expectation  that  our  extraordi- 
nary grants  would  be  justified  to  our  constituents  by  a  reform,  under  a  patriot  viccroj', 
of  the  various  and  manifold  abuses  that  had  taken  place  in  the  administration  of  the 
Irish  Government;  a  reformation  which  we  conceived,  in  the  present  times,  and  under 
3uch  an  increase  of  debt  and  taxes,  indispensable,  and  which  we  do,  therefore,  most 
humbly  persist  to  implore  and  expect. 

That,  after  the  supply  was  granted  and  the  force  voted,  and  whilst  the  chief  govern'.r, 
possessing  the  entire  confidence  of  both  Houses  of  Parliament,  and  the  approbation  of  all 
the  people,  was  reforming  abuses,  and  putting  the  country  in  a  state  of  defence,  he  was 
suddenly  and  prematurely  recalled,  and  our  unparaJleled  efforts  for  the  support  of  his 
Majesty  answered  by  the  strongest  marks  of  the  resentment  of  his  ministers. 

That,  in  consequence  of  such  a  proceeding,  the  business  of  Government  was  inter- 
rupted, the  defence  of  the  country  suspended,  the  unanimity  which  had  under  the  then 
Lord  Lieutenant  existed  converted  into  just  complaint  and  remonstrance,  and  the  energy, 
confidence,  and  zeal  of  the  nation,  so  loudly  called  for  by  his  Majesty's  ministers,  were, 
by  the  conduct  of  those  very  ministers  themselves,  materially  affected. 

That  these,  their  late  proceedings,  aggravated  their  past  system;  in  complaining  of 
which,  we  particularly  refer  to  the  notorious  traffic  of  honours — to  the  removal  of  the 
troops  contrary  to  the  law,  and  in  total  disregard  of  the  solemn  compact  with  the  nation 
and  safety  of  the  realm — to  the  criminal  conduct  of  Government  respecting  the  Irish 
army — to  the  disbursements  of  sums  of  money,  without  account  or  authority — to  the 
improvident  grant  of  reversions,  at  the  expense  of  his  Majesty's  interest,  sacrificed,  for 
the  emolument  of  his  servants,  to  the  conduct  of  his  Majesty's  ministers  in  both  coun- 
tries, towards  his  Protestant  and  Catholic  subjects  of  Ireland,  alternately  practising  ori 
their  passions,  exciting  their  hopes,  and  procuring  their  disappointment. 

That,  convinced  by  the  benefits  which  we  have  received  under  his  Majesty's  reign  that 
the  grievances  of  which  we  complain  are  as  unknown  to  his  Majesty  as  abhorrent  from 
his  paternal  and  royal  disposition. 

We,  hia  Commons  of  Ireland,  beg  leave  to  lay  ourselves  at  his  feet,  and,  with  all 
humility  to  his  Majesty,  to  prefer,  on  our  part,  and  on  the  part  of  our  constituents,  this 
our  just  and  necessary  remonstrance  against  the  conduct  of  his  ministers;  and  to 
Implore  his  Majesty  that  he  may  be  graciously  pleased  to  lay  his  commands  upon  his 
minister  to  second  the  zeal  of  his  Irish  Parliament  in  his  Majesty's  services,  by  manifest- 
ing in  future  to  the  people  of  Ireland  due  regard  and  attention. 


ABUSES    AND    GltlEVANOES.  197 

people  that  they  have  more  security  in  your  warmth  than  they 
can  have  in  their  own  heat — that  the  ardour  of  your  honest  zeal 
may  be  a  salutary  ventilator  to  the  ferment  of  your  country — in 
order  that  you  may  take  the  people  out  of  their  own  hands,  and 
bring  them  within  your  guidance.  Trust  me,  at  this  momentous 
crisis,  a  linn  and  tempered  sensibility  of  injury  would  be  equally 
honourable  to  yourselves  and  beneficial  to  the  nation:  trust  me, 
if,  at  a  time  when  every  little  stream  is  swollen  into  a  torrent,  wo 
alone  should  be  found  to  exhibit  a  smooth,  and  listless,  and  frozen 
surface,  the  folly  of  the  2:)eople  may  be  tempted  to  walk  across  us ; 
and,  whether  they  should  sujtpose  they  were  only  walking  upon 
ice,  or  treading  upon  corruption,  the  rashness  of  the  experiment 
might  be  fatal  to  us  all." 

[lie  said  that  the  abuses  and  grievances  which  afflicted  Ireland 
were  "  the  sale  of  the  honours  of  the  peerage ;  the  open  and 
avowed  sale,  for  money,  of  the  peerage,  to  any  man  rich  and 
shameless  enough  to  be  a  purchaser."  Such  a  course,  he  stiid, 
depraved  the  Commons,  profaned  the  sanctity  of  the  Lords,  poi- 
soned the  sources  of  legislation  and  the  fountains  of  justice,  and 
annihilated  the  very  idea  of  public  honour  and  public  integrity — 
but  all  this  had  been  done  by  the  government  of  Lord  Westmor- 
land. Next  was  the  depriving  Ireland  of  troops,  when  the  enemy 
was  at  the  gate,  and  tlie  breach  of  the  compact  to  maintain  12,000 
soldiers  in  Ireland,  might  have  been  the  loss  of  the  island.  Tlien 
came  the  wasteful  expenditure  of  public  money.  There  was  the 
abuse  of  patronage — every  office  of  value,  of  which  a  reversion 
could  be  granted,  having  been  so  disp^osed  of  for  years  and  years 
to  come.  There  was  the  injustice  of  neglecting,  refusing,  delaying 
relief  to  the  Roman  Catholics.  Lastly,  there  were  the  restraints 
uj)on  Irish  Comnaei-ce. 

This  was  a  full  budget.  Curran  moved  the  address,  Grattan 
.seconded,  and  I*onsonby  supported  it.  The  Government  moved 
and  carried  the  adjournment  of  the  House,  and  thus  the  address 
was  not  even  put  to  the  vote.] 


198  LIFE   OF   CUKE  AN. 

Ill  the  beginning  of  the  following  year,  Mr.  Cnrraii  moved 
"  that  a  committee  should  be  appointed  to  inquire  into  the  state 
of  the  lower  orders  of  the  people,"  to  whose  wretchedness  he 
attributed  the  prevailing  discontents ;  but  his  motion  was,  as 
usual,  "  suftbcated  by  the  question  of  adjournment."  He  also  dis- 
tinguished himself  by  his  support  of  Mr.  Grattan's  amendments 
to  the  addresses  in  this  year,  by  his  exertions  on  the  question  of 
Catholic  emancipation,  and  by  his  opposition  to  tlie  suspension  of 
the  habeas  corpus  act. 

[In  December,  1*795,  Mr.  Curran  ap})eared  in  the  Court  at 
Dublin,  as  counsel  for  James  Weldon,  charged  with  high  treason. 
Ilis  client  had  been  one  of  the  "  Dublin  Defenders,"  and  was 
charged  not  only  with  associating  with  traitors  unknown,  to  assist 
Uie  French,  the  j)ublic  enemies  of  the  Crown,  but  with  associating 
with  the  Defenders  to  subvert  the  Protestant  religion,  and  with 
corrupting  one  William  Lawler  to  become  a  Defender.  The 
chief  evidence  for  the  Crown  was  this  Lawler,  whose  testimony 
^Ir.  Curran  cut  up  into  tatters,  besides  giving  proof  that  he  was 
nut  credible.  Weldon  was  convicted  and  hanged  ;  though  Leary, 
another  prisoner,  was  acquitted,  under  precisely  similar  fjicts  ! 

Some  more  particular  notice  of  Mr.  Curran's  last  year  of  Par- 
liamentary life  appears  required  here.  In  February,  1*736,  in  the 
debate  on  the  Indemnity  Bill,  he  sujjported  Gratt-ui's  unsuccessful 
motion  that  Justice  Chamberlain  and  Baron  Smith,  the  judges 
who  had  gone  ciicuit  in  the  disturbed  districts,  should  first  be 
examined,  to  open  the  state  of  the  countiy^  and  the  general  con- 
duct of  the  magistrates.  In  the  same  month,  he  spoke  in  favour 
of  free  trade  between  England  and  Irelainl,  and  strongly  opposed 
the  Insurrection  Act,  which  g;ive  magistrates  the  arbitrary  power 
of  transportation,  describing  it  as  "  a  bill  for  the  rich  and  against 
the  poor,"  constituting  poverty  a  crime,  and  lea-ing  it  to  the  dis- 
cretion of  wealth  to  apportion  thiS  '^junishment. 

In  October,  1796,  when  the  French  were  preparing  Hoche's 
expedkion  for  the  invar.ion  of  Ireland,  and  the  Irish  Government 


NATIOKAi   JJICFENOa.  J.9^ 

recoinmeuJed  uniou  as  a  means  of  strength,  Grattan  inavucl  tJiat 
unanimity  could  best  be  obtained  by  enacting  such  laws  as  would 
secure  to  all  of  the  King's  subjects  "the  blessings  and  privileges 
of  the  Constitution,  without  distinction  of  religion."  Mr.  Curran 
was  among  those  who  supported  this  liberal  view.  His  speech  on 
this  occasion  contained  many  truths,  well  put.  "  Believe  me,  Sir," 
he  said,  "  an  invader  can  look  for  nothing  but  certain  destruction 
when  he  is  opposed  by  the  wishes  and  passions  of  the  people.  It 
is  not  garrisons,  it  is  not  generals,  nor  armies,  upon  which  we  can 
repose  in  safety.  It  is  on  the  union  and  zeal  of  the  general  inha- 
bitants, removing  provisions,  discovering  designs,  marring  the 
projects,  and  hanging  on  the  retreats  of  an  enemy,  that  baffles 
and  defeats  him  more  than  any  regular  force  can  do."  In  all 
probability,  this  was  suggested  by  the  orator's  recollection  of  the 
manner  in  which,  during  the  American  War  of  Independence,  the 
troops  of  Great  Britain  were  discomfited.  Mr.  Curran  was  fond 
of  historic  studies,  and  had  warmly  sympathised  witli  the  Ameri- 
cans in  their  arduous  contest  for  national  independence. 

Auotiier  passage  is  worthy  of  quotation,  as  illustrative  of  Mr. 
Curran's  figurative  style.  Answering  the  remark  that  the  Irish 
Catholics  had  got  much,  and  ought  to  be  content,  he  said :  "  Why 
liave  they  got  much  ?  is  it  from  the  Minister  ?  is  it  from  the  Par- 
liament which  tlirew  its  petition  over  its  bar  ^  No,  they  got  it  by 
the  great  revolution  of  hunuin  aftairs,  by  the  astonishing  march 
of  tlie  human  mind ;  a  march  that  has  collected  too  much 
moment  on  its  advance  to  be  now  stopped  in  its  progress.  The 
bark  is  still  afioat,  it  is  freighted  with  the  hopes  and  liberties  of 
men ;  she  is  already  under  weigh — the  rower  may  faint,  or  the 
wind  may  sleep,  but  rely  upon  it,  she  has  already  acquired  an 
energy  of  advancement  that  will  support  her  course,  and  bring  her 
Lo  her  destination ;  rely  upon  it,  wlu-tlu^r  much  or  little  remains, 
it  is  now  vain  to  withhold  it;  rclj  upon  it,  you  may  as  well  stamp 
your  foot  upon  the  earth,  in  order  to  prevent  its  revolution.  You 
cannot  stop  it  1  you  will  only  remain  a  silly  gnomon  upon  its  sur- 


200  LIFE   OF    CUKKAN. 

face  to  measure  the  rapidity  of  rotation,  until  you  are  forced 
round  and  buried  in  the  shade  of  that  body,  whose  irresistible 
course  you  would  endeavour  to  oppose." 

The  Attorney-General  moved  that  leave  be  given  to  bring  in  a 
Bill  similar  to  what  had  been  enacted  when  England  was  threat- 
ened witli  invasion,  authorizing  the  Irish  Executive  to  take  up 
and  detain  all  persons  suspected  of  treasonable  practices.  Leave 
was  given,  the  bill  was  forthwith  presented,  read  a  first  and 
second  time  that  night  (Oct.  13,  1796),  and  ordered  to  pass  into 
committee  the  next  day.  On  the  motion  that  it  be  committed,  a 
small  opposition  party,  headed  by  Mr.  George  Ponsonby,  resisted 
the  measure.  Mr.  Curran,  commenting  on  the  haste  with  which  it 
had  progressed,  said:  "At  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  the  House 
was  moved  for  leave  to  bring  in  a  Bill  to  susj^end  the  Habeas 
fJorjxis  Act ;  at  five  minutes  past  two  in  the  morning,  the  bill  was 
lead  a  first  time,  and,  after  grave  and  mature  deliberation,  the 
bill  was  ordered  to  be  read,  and  was  accordingly  read  a  second 
time  at  ten  minutes  past  Iwo  in  the  morning.  Its  principle  was 
taen  fully  considered  and  approved  of;  and  at  fifteen  minutes 
after  two  in  the  morning,  it  was  laid  before  a  Committee  of  the 
whole  House!"  The  dinsion  was  137  to  7,  and  the  Habeas  Cor- 
pus act  was  suspended  accordingly. 

On  October  l7th,  1796,  in  a  debate  on  Grattan's  motion  iu 
favour  of  the  admission  to  seats  in  Parliament  (seconded  by 
George  Ponsonb}^,  and  strenuously  opposed  by  the  Government), 
Dr.  Duigenan,  a  polemical  and  political  intolerant  of  the  first 
(raud-and-)  waterj  used  violent  and  oftensive  language  against  the 
Catholics,  in  whose  communion  he  had  participated  in  his  youth. 
Mr.  Curran  replied  to  him,  and  said,  "  He  has  abused  the  Catho- 
lics, he  has  abused  their  ancestors,  he  has  abused  the  merchants 
of  Ireland,  he  has  abused  Mr.  Burke,  he  has  abused  those  who 
voted  for  the  order  of  the  day."  Mr.  Curran  then  described  his 
maimer  and  matter  of  speakijig — "  that  confusion  of  history  and 
dinnity,  and  civil  law  and  canon  law — that  rollicking  mixtura  of 


HOCHE'S   EXPLDITION.  201 

politics  and  tlieology,  and  antiquity,  witli  wliicli  he  has  over- 
whelmed the  dehat-e ;  for  the  havoc  and  carnage  he  has  made  of 
the  population  of  the  last  age,  and  the  fury  with  which  he  seemed 
determined  to  exterminate,  and  even  to  devour,  the  population  of 
this ;  and  which  urged  him,  after  tearing  and  gnawing  the  cha- 
racters of  the  Catholics,  to  spend  the  last  eiforts  of  his  rage,  with 
the  most  unrelenting  ferocity,  in  actually  gnawing  the  names.^* 
Ill  truth,  sir,  I  felt  some  surprise,  and  some  regret,  when,  I  heard 
him  describe  the  sceptre  of  lath,  and  the  tiara  of  straw,  and 
mimic  his  bedlamite  Emperor  and  Pope  with  such  refined  and 
happy  gesticulation,  that  he  could  be  prevailed  on  to  quit  so  con- 
genial a  company."  Alluding  to  tlie  declaration  that  the  Catho- 
lics must  not  have  Emancipation,  because  they  demanded  it  with 
insolence,  Mr.  Curran  said,  "  Suppose  that  assertion,  false  as  it  is 
in  fact,  to  be  true,  is  it  aay  argument  with  a  public  assembly  that 
any  incivility  of  demand  can  cover  the  injustice  of  refusal  ? 
How  low  nuist  that  assembly  be  fallen,  which  can  suggest  as  an 
apology  for  the  refusal  of  an  incontestible  right,  the  answer  which 
a  bankrupt  buck  might  give  to  the  demand  of  his  tailor — he  will 
not  pay  the  bill,  because  'the  rascal  had  dared  to  threaten  his 
honour.'  "  'I'lie  motion  in  favour  of  Catholic  Emancipation  was 
lost  by  ]43  to  19. 

On  January  G,  I'JO'Z,  Mr.  Curran  strongly  joined  ii.  the  animad- 
versions of  tile  (Opposition  on  the  inactivity  of  the  Bi-itish  navy, 
when  invasit^n  was  anticipated,  whereby  IToche's  expedition  was 
within  an  ace  of  success.  When  the  French  fleet  were  in  ]5antry 
J3ay,  not  a  British  line-of-battle  ship  was  on  the  whole  course  of 
the  kingdom  of  Ireland.  A  few  we<ks  later  (February  2-Jth 
llO^J),  Cunaii  supported  an  addre>s  for  the  increase  of  the  domestic 
army  of  Ireland,  especially  the  yeomanry  corj^s.     The  Ministerial 

*  Dr.  Dulgenaii,  wtio  used  excessive  gosticulaUon,  ami  sometimes  lashcJ  liim^elf  Into 
such  a  rage  as  to  foam  at  the  mouth,  had  sucli  a  peculiar  way  of  barking  out  the  name  of 
Mr.  Keogh,  one  of  the  Catholic  leaders,  Uiat  }>U.  Curian  said  it  was  a  sort  of  pronuncl* 
tory  defamation. — M. 

9* 


202  LIB'E    OF   CUKKAN. 

prtrty  resisted  tlie  proposiiion,  wliich  was  based  on  tlio  increasing 
power  of  France,  the  inability  or  inactivity  of  England  for  the 
defence  of  Irehmd,  and  the  danger  of  Ireland  herself.  Mr.  Curran 
mentioned,  as  a  fact,  that  when  the  French  fleet  arrived  in 
JJantry,  there  were  not,  in  that  quarter  of  the  country,  including 
Cork  (the  second  city  of  Ireland),  one  thousand  men  to  meet  the 
enemy ! 

In  February,  1797,  Mr.  Curran  also  spoke  on  Ponsonby's 
motion  of  censure  on  the  Irish  Ministry,  and  on  Vandeleur's 
motion  for  an  Absentee  Tax.  In  March  of  the  same  year,  lie 
went  rather  freely,  and  very  forcibly,  into  the  motion  of  censure 
for  disarming  the  inhabitants  of  Ulster,  on  the  pretext  that 
"  daring  and  horrid  outrages "  had  been  perpetrated  in  that  pro- 
vince. This,  in  effect,  was  declaring  the  inhabitants  generally  to 
be  guilty  of  high  treason.  The  Government  had  obtained  a  great 
majority  in  the  Commons,  and  the  motion  was  defeated.  In 
truth,  by  this  time,  they  had  so  distributed  places,  pensions,  peer- 
ages, and  promises,  that  they  could  carry  or  defeat  any  and  every 
motion  in  both  Houses  of  Parliament.] 

His  last  parliamentary  effort  was  in  the  debate  on  Mr.  William 
Brabazon  Ponsonby's  plan  of  parliamentary  reform,*  which  inclu- 
ded Catholic  Emancipation,  and  was  brought  forward  by  the 
Opposition  as  a  iirial  experiment  to  save  Ireland  from  the  horrors 
of  the  impending  rebellion.  By  the  late  report  of  the  secrei 
committee,  it  had  appeared  that  extensive  associations  for  trea- 
.sonable  objects  existed  throughout  the  countiy :  the  Administra- 
tion considered  that  force  alone  should  be  resorted  to — the  Oppo- 
sition were  as  decided  that  conciliation,  and  conciliati*  ii  alone, 
would  restore  tran.juillitv'.  The  ostensible  objects  of  the  con- 
spiracy were  reform  and  Catholic  Emancipation  :  the  Administra- 
tration  admitted  that  these  Avere  merely  pretexts,  and  (hat  revolu- 
tion was  the  real  though  covert  design ;  but  tliev  arr>'ued  "  that 
the  House  ought  to  make  a  stand,  and  say  that  rebellion  must  be 

*  May  15th,  179T.^C. 


KEFOEM.  203 

put  down,  before  the  grievances  that  were  rnade  its  pretdxt  should 
he  even  discussed."  To  this  it  was  answered  by  Mr.  Ci.rran,  "  if 
Reform  be  only  a  pretence,  and  separation  be  the  real  objects  of 
the  leaders  of  the  conspiracy,  confound  the  leaders  by  destroying 
the  pretext,  and  take  the  followers  to  yourselves.  You  say  they  are 
one  hundred  thousand ;  I  firmly  believe  they  are  three  times  the  num  - 
ber ;  so  miich  ^he  better  for  you.  If  these  seducers  can  attach  so 
many  followers  to  rebellion,  by  the  hope  of  reform  through  blood, 
how  much  more  readily  will  you  engage  them,  not  by  the  promise, 
but  the  possession,  and  without  blood."  "  Reform  (he  continued) 
is  a  necessary  change  of  mildness  for  coercion :  the  latter  has 
been  tried,  and  what  is  its  success  ?  The  Convention  Bill  was 
passed  to  punish  the  meetings  at  Dungarmon  and  those  of  the 
Catholics  :  the  Government  considered  the  Catholic  concessions 
as  defeats  that  called  for  vengeance — and  cruelly  have  they 
avenged  them ;  but  did  that  act,  or  those  Avhich  followed,  put 
down  those  meetings  ?  the  contrary  was  the  fact ;  it  most  foolishly 
.-oncealed  them.  When  popular  discontents  are  abroad,  a  wise 
(jlovernment  should  put  them  in  an  hive  of  glass ;  you  hid  them. 
The  associations  at  llrst  were  small — the  earth  seemed  to  drink  it 
as  a  rivulet ;  but  it  only  disappeared  for  a  season :  a  thousand! 
streams,  through  the  secret  windings  of  the  earth,  found  theii- 
way  to  one  source,  and  swelled  its  waters  ;  until  at  last,  too  mighty 
to  be  contained,  i(  i.urst  out  a  great  river,  fertilizing  by  its  exun- 
dations,  or  terrifying  l>y  its  cataracts.  This  v.as  the  efiect  of  your 
penal  code — it  swelled  sedition  into  rebellion.  What  else  could 
be  hoped  from  a  system  of  terrorism  ?  Feai'  is  tl  e  most  transient 
of  all  the  passions — it  is  the  warning  that  nature  g-ives  for  self- 
preservation  ;  but  when  safety  is  unattainable,  the  warning  must 
be  useless,  and  nature  does  not  therefore  give  it.  The  Adminis- 
tration mistook  the  quality  of  penal  laws :  they  were  sent  out  to 
fil'olish  couv  enticles ;  but  they  did  not  pass  the  threshold,  they  stood 
sentinels  at  the  gates.  You  thought  that  penal  kws,  like  great 
dogs,  would  waoj  their  tails  tc  thoir  masters,  j.n.^  bark  only  &i 


204  LIFE   OF   CUEFvAN. 

their  enemies  ;  you  were  mistaken  ;  thev  turn  and  devour  tliose  tlif  y 
were  meant  to  protect,  and  were  harmless  where  they  were  intended 
to  destroy.  Gentlemen,  I  see,  laugh — I  see  they  aft'ect  to  be  still 
v«ry  ignorant  of  the  nature  of  fear:  this  cannot  last;  neither, 
while  it  does,  can  it  be  concealed :  the  feeble  glimmering  of  a 
K>r(^ed  smile  is  a  light  that  makes  the  cheek  look  paler.  Trust  me, 
the  tunes  are  too  humanized  for  such  systems  of  government — 
humanity  will  not  execute  them;  but  humanity  will  abhor  them, 
and  those  who  wished  to  rule  by  such  means.  "We  hoped  much, 
and,  I  doubt  not,  meant  well  by  those  laws ;  but  they  have  miser- 
ably failed  us :  it  is  time  to  try  milder  methods.  You  have  tried 
to  force  the  jjeople  :  but  the  rage  of  your  penal  laws  was  a  storm 
that  only  drove  them  in  groups  to  shelter.  Before  it  is  too  late, 
therefore,  try  the  better  force  of  reason,  and  conciliate  them  l)y 
justice  and  humanity.  Neither  let  us  talk  of  innovation — tho 
progress  of  nature  is  no  innovation — the  increase  of  people,  the 
growth  of  the  mind,  is  no  innovation,  unless  the  growth  of  our  mind 
lag  behind.  If  we  think  otherwise,  and  consider  it  an  innovation 
to  depart  from  the  folly  of  our  infancy,  we  should  come  here  in 
our  swaddling  clothes ;  Ave  should  not  innovate  upon  the  dress 
more  than  the  understanding  of  the  cradle 

"As  to  the  system  of  peace  now  proposed,  you  must  take  it  on 
its  principles;  they  are  simply  two— the  abolition  of  religious 
disabilities,  and  the  representation  of  the  people.  I  am  confident 
the  effects  would  be  every  thing  to  be  wished  ;  the  present  alarm- 
ing discontent  will  vanish,  the  good  will  be  separated  from  the 
ill-intentioned ;  the  friends  of  mixed  gov^ernment  in  Ireland  are 
many — every  sensible  man  must  see  that  it  gives  all  the  enjoy- 
ment of  rational  liberty,  if  the  people  have  theii-  due  place  in  the 
state.  This  system  would  make  us  invincible  against  a  foreign 
Oi-  domestic  enemy;  it  would  make  the  empire  strong  at  this 
important  crisis ;  it  would  restoi'e  to  us  liberty,  industry,  and 
peace,  which  I  am  satisfiel  can  uevex*  by  any  other  means  be 
restored." 


SENATORS    IN    A.    PET.  205 

The  counsels  of  peace  and  conciliation  which  Mr.  Curran  and 
his  friends  now  proposed  to  the  Parliament  were  the  last  which 
they  had  to  offer;  and  finding  that  they  were  to  be  rejected,  they 
resolved  to  take  no  farther  part  in  deliberations  where  their  inter- 
ference was  so  unavailing.  "  I  agree  (said  Mr.  Curran,  in  conclu- 
sion) that  unanimity  at  this  time  is  indispensable  ;  the  house  seems 
pretty  unanimous  for  force  ;  I  am  sorry  for  it,  for  I  bode  the  worst 
from  it :  I  shall  retire  from  a  scene  wliere  I  can  do  no  good,  and 
where  I  certainly  should  disturb  that  unanimity ;  I  cannot,  how- 
ever, go  without  a  parting  entreaty,  that  men  would  reflect  upon 
the  awful  responsibility  in  which  they  stand  to  their  country  and 
their  conscience,  before  they  set  an  example  to  the  people  of  aban- 
doning the  constitution  and  the  law,  and  resorting  to  the  terrible 
expedient  of  force." 

Mr.  Grattan,  who  followed  Mr.  Curran,  concluded  his  speech  by 
announcing  the  same  intention  : — "  Your  system  is  perilous  indeed. 
I  speak  without  asperity ;  T  speak  without  resentment ;  I  speak, 
perhaps,  my  delusion,  but  it  is  my  heartfelt  conviction;  I  speak 
my  apprehension  for  the  immediate  state  of  our  liberty,  and  for 
the  ultimate  state  of  the  empire ;  I  see,  or  imagine  I  see,  in  this 
system,  every  thing  which  is  dangerous  to  both ;  I  hope  I  am 
mistaken — at  least,  I  hope  I  exaggerate ;  possibly  I  may :  if  so,  I 
shall  acknowledge  my  error  with  more  satisfaction  than  is  usual 
in  the  acknowledgment  of  error.  I  cannot,  however,  banish  from 
mv  memory  the  lesson  of  the  American  war,  and  yet  at  that  time 
the  English  GovermiicuL  was  at  the  head  of  Europe,  and  was 
possessed  of  rcsoiu'ces  comparatively  unbroken.  If  that  lesson 
has  no  effect  on  ministers,  surely  I  can  suggest  nothing  that  will. 
We  have  offered  you  our  measure — you  will  I'eject  it:  we  depre- 
cate yours — you  will  persevere;  having  no  hopes  left  to  persuade 
or  to  dissuade,  and  havinof  discharged  our  duty,  we  shall  trouble 
you  no  moie,  and  after  this  day  shall  not  attend  the  House  of 
Commons^ 

[The  Opposition  ceased  to  attend,  and  after  a  few  more  sittings 


206  LTFK    OF    CTTRRAN. 

Parliament  was  aJjoiirned  on  July  3,  179Y.  In  Englar  i,  about 
tlie  same  time,  Charles  James  Fox,  leader  of  "  His  Majesty's  Oppo- 
sition," finding  his  party  invariably  in  a  minority,  declared  his 
intention  to  forbear  prosecuting  an  useless  attendance  in  Parlia- 
ment. In  1800,  however.  Fox  resumed  his  seat,  and  used  his 
most  strenuous  opposition  as  a  friend  of  Ireland,  to  the  UnioTi. 
In  1799,  Ml-.  Grattan  returned  to  the  Irish  Parliament  for  a  shoit 
time,  to  oppose  the  Union.  Mr.  Curran's  senatorial  life  closed 
with  his  secession  in  1797.] 

A  few  weeks  after  the  secession  of  the  Opposition,  Mr.  Grattan 
addressed  a  letter  to  the  citizens  of  Dublin  upon  the  part  of  him- 
self and  the  other  members  of  the  minority,  to  explain  their  mo- 
tives in  talcing  that  step.  This  letter,  besides  being  a  splendid 
monument  of  the  writer's  genius,  is  an  important  historical  docu- 
ment, and  when  confronted  with  the  reports  of  secret  committees 
and  similar  official  statements,  will  show  what  an  imperfect  idea 
they  convey  of  the  real  condition  of  the  tinier. 

TRIAL    OF    MR.    J'ETER    FINNERTl'. 

Mr.  Curran's  next  great  professional  exertion  was  in  the  defence 
of  Mr.  Finnerty,  who  was  tried  in  December,  1797,  for  a  libel  on 
the  Government  and  person  of  tbe  Viceroy  (Lord  Camden).  The 
subject  of  the  libel  was  the  trial  and  execution  of  a  person  named 
William  Orr,  which  had  taken  place  a  little  before.  Orr,  who  had 
been  committed  on  a  charffe  of  hio-h  treason,  was  arraimied  on  an 
indictment  framed  under  the  Insuri'ection  Act,  for  administering 
unlawful  oaths,  and  convicted.  A  motion  in  arrest  of  judgment 
was  made,  in  the  argument  upon  which  Mr.  Curran,  who  was  his 
leading  counsel,  is  said  to  have  displayed  as  much  legal  ability 
and  affecting  eloquence  as  upon  any  occasion  of  his  life.  This 
argument  is  so  imperfectly  reported  as  to  be  unworthy  of  insertion. 
It  contains,  however,  one  striking  example  of  that  peculiar  idiom 


PETKR    FmNKRTY's    CASE.  207 

in  which  he  discussed  the  most  technical  questions;  in  (  ontending 
that  the  act  under  Avhich  his  client  was  tried  had  expired,  he 
observes :  "  The  mind  of  the  judge  is  the  repository  of  tlie  law  that 
does  exist,  not  of  the  law  that  did  exist ;  nor  does  the  mercy  and 
justice  of  our  law  recognize  so  disgraceful  an  office  as  that  of  a 
judge  l)ecoming  a  sort  of  administrator  to  a  dead  statute,  and  col- 
lecting the  debts  of  Mood  that  were  due  to  it  in  its  lifetime^ 

Another  of  his  arguments  for  arresting  the  judgment  was,  "  that 
the  state  had  no  right  to  wage  a  piratical  war  against  the  subject 
under  false  colours:" — that  Orr's  offence  (supposing  the  informer 
who  gave  evidence  against  him  to  have  sworn  truly)  amounted  to 
liio-h  treason,  and  tliat  he  should  therefore  have  been  indicted 
under  the  constitutional  statute  relating  to  tliat  crime,  from  wliich 
the  accused  derive  so  many  prinleges  of  defence.  It  may  be 
necessary  to  inform  some  readers,  that  when  acts  of  high  ti'eason 
are  made  merely /e?o«y  by  a  particular  statute,  the  persons  under 
trial  lose,  among  other  advantages,  the  benefit  of  their  counsel's 
address  to  the  jury,  to  wliich,  had  they  been  indicted  for  high 
treason,  they  would  have  been  entitled.*  Upon  such  occasion-s, 
when  Mr.  Curran,  in  addressing  the  Court  upon  questions  of  law, 
happened  to  let  fall  any  observations  upon  the  general  merits  of 
the  case,  he  had  to  sustain  the  reproach  of  "  attempting  to  insinu- 
ate ^  speech  to  the  jury." 

But  all  his  efforts  were  unavailing;  his  legal  objections  were 
overruled  by  the  Bench  ;  and  in  answer  to  what  he  had  addressed 
to  the  feelings  of  the  Court,  the  presiding  judge.  Lord  Yelverton, 
from  whose  mind  classical  associations  were  never  absent,  adverted 
to  a  passage  in  the  histoiy  of  the  Roman  commonwealth,  whore, 
after  the  expulsion  of  the  Tarquins,  it  was  attemjited  by  the  Patri- 
cians to  restore  royalty  ;  and  the  argument  made  use  of  was,  "  that 
a  government  by  laws  was  stern  and  cruel,  inasmuch  as  laws  had 
neither  hearts  to  feel,  nor  ears  to  hear;  whereas  government  liy 
kings  was  merciful,  inasmu(;h  as  the  sources  of  humanity  and 

♦  The  law  .and  practice  have  been  alterecl  sinoc  tliis  was  wrH*°n.— M. 


208  LIFE   OF   CURRAN. 

tenderness  were  open  to  entreaty."*  "For  my  part,"  added  his 
Lordsliip,  "I  am  acting  under  a  government  by  laws,  and  am 
bound  to  speak  the  voice  of  the  law,  which  has  neitlier  feeling  nor 
passions," 

But  this  excellent  and  feeling  judge  soon  showed  how  little  of 
legal  insensibility  belonged  to  his  own  nature.  "When  he  came  to 
pronounce  sentence  of  death  upon  the  prisoner,  he  was  so  aflPected 
as  to  be  scarcely  audible,  and  the  fatal  words  were  no  sooner  con- 
cluded than  he  burst  into  tears,  and,  sinking  his  head  between  his 
hands,  continued  for  many  minutes  in  that  attitude  of  honourable 
emotion. 

The  prisoner  was  recommended  to  the  jury  for  mercy,  but,  after 
receiving  no  less  than  three  respites,  was  finally  executed.f  He 
died  protesting  his  innocence  ;  and  though  such  a  declaration  be 
vfiy  doubtful  evidence  of  the  fact  (for  who,  about  to  sufter  for  a 
political  crime,  would  not  prefer  to  be  remembered  as  a  martyr  ?), 
still  there  were,  in  the  case  of  Orr,  some  corroborating  circum- 
stances v.hich  render  it  a  matter  of  surprise  and  regret  that  they 
should  have  been  disregarded.  His  previous  life  and  character 
had  been  irreproachable :  subsequent  to  his  trial,  it  appeared  that 
the  informer,  upon  whose  evidence  he  had  been  convicted,  had, 
according  to   his  own  confession,  perjured  himself  on  a  former 

•  Regem  hominem  esse,"  quo  impetres  ubi  jus,  ubi  injuria  opus  sit — esse  gratise  locmn, 
esse  benelicio,  et  irasci  et  ignoscere  posse — inter  ainicum  atque  inimicum  discrimen 
nosse.  Leges  rem  surdam,  inexorabilem  esse,  salubriorem  melioremque  inopi,  quam 
potenti — nihil  laxamenti  nee  veniae  habere,  si  mo(iuni  excesseris. —  Tit.  Zw.  lib.  2. — Lord 
Yelverton  was  considered  as  one  of  the  most  accompUshed  classical  scholars  of  his  lime. 
An  unfinished  translation  of  Livy  (his  favourite  historian)  remains  among  his  papers. — C. 

[A  lawyer  pleading  before  Lord  Avonmore,  having  to  oppose  some  principles  urged 
against  him  on  the  authority  of  Judge  Blackstone,  treated  the  works  of  that  great  com- 
mentator in  terms  of  disrespect;  at  which  Ljid  Avonmore  was  so  provoked  that  he 
instantly  hurst  forth  into  the  following  beautifal  compliment  to  that  eminent  writer :  "  He 
first  gave  to  the  law  the  air  of  science  ;  he  found  it  a  skeleton,  and  clothed  it  with  flesh, 
colour,  and  complexion;  he  embraced  the  cold  statue,  and  by  his  touch  it  grew  into  life, 
sense,  and  beauty.  His  great  works  survive  the  vagaries  which  pass  through  the  crude 
minds  of  each  giddy  innovator,  and  which  every  packet  imports  in  the  form  o*'  a  bluij 
paper  report." — M.] 

t  On  October  14,  1T97.— M. 


ORR  8   TRIAL.  209 

occasion,  and  had  been,  in  other  particulars,  a  person  of  infamous 
conduct  and  reputation ;  but  above  all,  the  circumstance?  under 
which  the  verdict  was  found  against  Orr  pointed  him  out»  if  not 
as  an  object  constitutional!}'  entitled  to  mercy,  at  least  as  one  t(' 
wl  om  it  would  have  been  an  act  of  salutary  mildness  to  hav*^ 
extended  it.  The  jury  had  continued  from  seven  o'clock  i*^-  tho 
evening  till  six  on  the  following  morning  considering  their  ver- 
dict; in  the  interval,  spirituous  liquor  had  been  introduced  into 
the  jury-room,  and  intimidation  used  to  such  as  hesitated  to  con- 
cur with  the  majority.  To  these  latter  facts  two  of  the  jury  viaada 
a  solemn  affidavit  in  open  court,  before  the  judge  who  trie(?  the 
cause. 

Upon  these  proceedings,  a  very  severe  letter  of  remonstrance  to 
the  Viceroy  appeared  in  the  "Press"  newspaper,  of  which  Mr. 
Finnerty  was  the  publisher ;  and  the  letter  being  deemed  a  libel, 
the  publisher  was  brought  to  immediate  trial. 

Mr.  Curran's  address  to  the  jury  in  this  case  must  be  con- 
sidered, if  not  the  finest,  at  least  the  most  surprising  specimen  of 
his  oratorical  powers.  lie  hnd  had  no  time  for  preparation ;  i\ 
was  not  till  a  few  minutes  before  the  cause  commenced  that  hif* 
brief  was  handed  to  him.  During  the  progress  of  the  trial  he 
had  occasion  to  speak  at  unusual  length  to  questions  of  law  that 
arose  upon  the  evidence ;  so  that  his  speech  to  the  jury  could 
necessarily  be  no  other  than  a  sudden  extemporaneous  exertion : 
and  it  was,  perhaps,  a  secret  and  not  unjustifiable  feeling  of  pride 
at  having  so  acquitted  himself  upon  such  an  emergency  that 
inclined  his  own  mind  to  prefer  this  to  any  of  his  other  efforts. 

The  followiTig  is  liis  description  of  the  scenes  which  attended 
and  followed  the  trial  of  "William  Orr : 

"  Let  me  beg  of  you  for  a  moment  to  suppose  that  any  one  of 
you  had  been  the  writer  of  this  strong  and  severe  animadversion 
upon  the  Lord  Lieuterant,  and  that  you  had  been  the  witness  of 
that  lamentable  and  never-to-be-foi"gotten   catastrophe ;   let  me 


210  LIFE   OF   CURRAiSr. 

suppose  that  you  had  known  the  charge  upon  wliich  Mr.  Orr  was 
apprehended— the  charge  of  objuring  that  bigotry  which  Lad  torn 
and  disgraced  his  country,  of  pledging  himself  to  restore  the  peo- 
ple to  their  place  in  the  Constitution,  and  of  binding  himself 
never  to  be  the  betrayer  of  his  fellow-laborers  in  that  enterprise ; 
that  you  had  seen  him  upon  that  charge  torn  from  his  industry 
and  confined  in  a  gaol ;  that,  through  the  slow  and  lingering  pro- 
gress of  twelve  tedious  months,  you  had  seen  him  confined  in  a 
dunrreon,  shut  out  from  the  common  use  of  air  and  of  Ins  own 
limbs;  that,  day  after  day,  you  had  )narked  the  unhappy  captive, 
cheered  by  no  sound  but  the  cries  of  his  family  or  the  clanking 
of  his  chains ;  that  you  had  seen  him  at  last  brought  to  his  trial ; 
that  you  had  seen  the  vile  and  perjured  informer  deposing  against 
his  life;  that  you  had  seen  the  drunken,  and  worn  out,  and  terri- 
fied jury  give  in  a  verdict  of  death ;  that  you  had  seen  the  same 
jury,  when  their  returning  sobriety  had  brought  back  their 
reason,  prostrate  themselves  befoi-e  the  humanity  of  the  Bench, 
and  pray  that  the  mercy  of  the  ('rown  might  save  their  characters 
from  the  reproach  of  an  involuntary  crime,  their  consciences  from 
the  torture  of  eternal  self-condemnation,  and  their  souls  from  the 
indelible  stain  of  innocent  blood.  Let  me  suppose  that  you  had 
seen  the  respite  given,  and  the  contrite  and  honest  recommenda- 
tion transmitted  to  that  seat  where  mercy  was  presumed  to  dwell : 
that  new  and  before  unheard-of  crimes  are  discovered  against  the 
informer ;  that  the  royal  mercy  seems  to  relent ;  that  a  new 
respite  is  sent  to  the  prisoner;  that  time  is  taken  to  see  'whether 
mercy  could  be  extended  or  not ;'  that  after  that  period  of  linger- 
ing deliberation  had  passed,  a  third  res[)ite  is  transmitted ;  that 
the  unhappy  captive  himself  feels  the  cheering  hope  of  being 
restored  to  a  family  that  he  had  adored,  to  a  character  that  he 
had  never  stained,  and  to  a  country  that  he  had  ever  loved ;  that 
vou  had  seen  his  wife  and  his  children  upon  their  knees,  giving 
those  tears  to  gratitude  which  their  locked  and  frozen  hearts  had 


DEFENCE    OF   FlNNERTr.  211 

refused  to  anguish  and  despair,  and  imploring  tlie  blessings  of 
eternal  Providence  upon  Lis  head  who  had  graciously  spared  th« 
father  and  restored  him  to  his  children : 

•  Alas ! 
Nor  wife,  nor  children,  no  more  shall  he  behold, 
Nor  friends,  nor  sacred  home  !' 

"Often  did  the  weary  dove  return  to  the  window  of  his  Utile 
ark ;  but  the  olive  leaf  was  to  him  no  sign  that  the  waters  had 
subsided.  No  seraph  Mercy  unbars  his  dungeon,  and  leads  him 
forth  to  light  and  lire ;  but  the  minister  of  Death  hurries  him  to 
the  scene  of  suffering  and  of  shame  :  where,  unmoved  by  the 
hostile  array  of  artillery  and  armed  men  collected  together  tc 
secure  or  to  insult,  or  to  disturb  him,  he  dies  with  a  solemn 
declaration  of  his  innocence,  and  utters  his  last  breath  in  a  prayer 
for  the  liberty  of  his  country. 

"  Let  me  now  ask  you,  if  any  of  you  had  addressed  the  public 
ear  upon  so  foul  and  monstrous  a  subject,  in  what  language 
would  you  have  conveyed  the  feelings  of  horror  and  indignation  ? 
Would  you  have  stooped  to  the  meanness  of  qualified  complaint  ? 
Would  you  have  checked  your  feelings  to  search  for  courtly  and 
gaudy  language  ?  Would  you  have  been  mean  enough — but  I 
entreat  your  pardon  :  I  have  already  told  you  I  do  not  think 
meanly  of  you.  Had  I  thought  so  meanly  of  you,  I  could  not 
suffer  my  mind  to  commune  with  you  as  it  has  done :  had  I 
thought  you  that  base  and  servile  instrument,  attuned  by  hope 
and  fear  into  discord  and  falsehood,  from  whose  vulgar  string  no 
groan  of  suffering  could  vibrate,  no  voice  of  integrity  or  honour 
could  speak,  let  me  honestly  tell  you  I  should  have  scorned  to 
fling  my  hand  across  it;  I  should  have  left  it  to  a  fitter  minstrel ; 
if  I  do  not,  therefore,  grossly  err  in  my  opinion  of  you,  you  could 
invent  no  language  upon  such  a  subject  as  this,  that  must  not  lag 
behind  the  rapidity  of  your  feelings,  and  that  must  not  disgrace 
those  feelings  if  it  attempted  to  describe  them." 


212  -  LIFE   OF   CTJERAl^r. 

The  distracted  condition  of  Ireland  at  this  unfortunate  period, 
may  be  collected  from  the  following  description.  To  the  general 
reader  of  Mr.  Curran's  speeches,  the  frequent  recurrence  of  so 
painful  a  theme  must  diminish  their  attractions ;  but  it  was  too 
intimately  connected  with  his  subjects  to  be  omitted ;  and  as  has 
been  previously  remarked,  the  scenes  which  he  daily  witnessed 
had  so  sensible  an  influence  upon  the  style  of  his  addresses  to 
'uries,  that  some  advertence  to  them  here  becomes  indis^^ensable. 

"The  learned  counsel  has  asserted  that  the  paper  which  he 
prosecutes  is  only  part  of  a  system  formed  to  misrepresent  the 
state  of  Ireland  and  the  conduct  of  its  government.  Do  you  not 
therefore  discover  that  his  object  is  to  procute  a  verdict  to  sanc- 
tion the  parliaments  of  both  countries  in  refusing  an  inquiry  into 
your  grievances  ?  Let  me  ask  you  then,  are  you  prepared  to  say, 
upon  your  oath,  that  those  measures  of  coercion  which  are  daily 
practised,  are  absolutely  necessary,  and  ought  to  be  continued? 
It  is  not  upon  Finnerty  you  are  sitting  in  judgment ;  but  you  are 
sitting  in  judgment  upon  the  lives  and  liberties  of  the  inhabitants 
of  more  than  half  of  Ireland.  You  are  to  say  that  it  is  a  foul  pro- 
ceeding to  condemn  the  Government  of  Ireland ;  that  is  a  foul 
act,  founded  in  foul  motives,  and  originating  in  falsehood  and 
sedition  ;  that  it  is  an  attack  upon  a  government  under  which  the 
people  are  prosperous  and  happy ;  that  justice  is  administered  with 
mercy ;  that  the  statements  made  in  Great  Britain  are  false — are 
the  effusions  of  party  or  of  discontent ;  that  all  is  mildness  and 
tranquillity ;  that  there  are  no  burnings — no  transportations  ;  that 
you  never  travel  by  the  light  of  conflagrations;  that  the  jails  are 
not  crowded  month  after  month,  from  which  prisoners  are  taken 
out,  not  for  trial,  but  for  embarkation  !  These  are  the  questions 
upon  which,  I  say,  you  must  virtually  decide.  It  is  vain  that  the 
counsel  for  the  Crown  may  tell  you  that  I  am  misrepresenting  the 
case;  that  I  am  endeavouring  to  raise  false  fears,  and  to  take 
advantage  of  your  passions ;  that  the  question  is,  whether  this 
paper  be  a  libel  or  not,  and  that  the  circumstances  of  the  country 


DEFENCE   OF   FINNEBTY.  213 

have  nothing  to  do  with  it.  Such  assertions  must  be  in  vain ; 
the  statement  of  the  counsel  for  the  Crown  has  forced  the  intro- 
duction of  those  important  topics ;  and  I  appeal  to  your  own 
hearts  whether  the  country  is  misrepresented,  and  whether  the 
Government  is  misi'epresented.  I  tell  you  therefore,  gentlemen 
of  the  jury,  it  is  not  with  respect  to  Mr.  Orr  or  Mr.  Finnerty  that 
your  verdict  is  now  sought ;  you  are  called  upon,  on  your  oaths, 
to  say  that  the  Government  is  wise  and  merciful ;  the  people 
prosperous  and  happy  ;  that  military  law  ought  to  be  continued  ; 
that  the  Constitution  could  not  with  safety  be  restored  to  Ireland ; 
and  that  the  statements  of  a  contrary  import  by  your  advocates 
in  either  country  are  libellous  and  false.  I  tell  you,  these  are  the 
questions ;  and  I  ask  you,  if  you  can  have  the  front  to  give  the 
expected  answer  in  the  face  of  a  community  who  know  the  coun- 
try as  well  as  you  do.  Let  me  ask  you  how  you  could  reconcile 
with  such  a  verdict,  the  gaols,  the  tenders,  the  gibbets,  the  confla- 
grations, the  murders,  the  proclamations,  that  we  hear  of  every 
day  in  the  streets,  and  see  every  day  in  the  country  i  What  are 
the  processions  of  the  learned  counsel  himself,  circuit  after  circuit? 
Merciful  God !  what  is  the  state  of  Ireland,  and  where  shall  you 
find  the  wretched  inhabitant  of  this  land?  You  may  find  him 
perhaps  in  gaol,  the  only  place  of  security,  I  had  almost  said  of 
ordinary  habitation !  If  you  do  not  find  him  there,  you  may  see 
him  flying  with  his  family  from  the  flames  of  his  own  dwelling — 
lighted  to  his  dungeon  by  the  conflagration  of  his  hovel ;  or  you 
may  find  his  bones  bleaching  on  the  green  fields  of  his  country ; 
or  you  may  find  him  tossing  on  the  surface  of  the  ocean,  and  ming- 
ling his  groans  with  those  tempests,  less  savage  than  his  prosecutors, 
that  drift  him  to  a  returnless  distance  from  his  family  and  his 
home,  without  charge,  or  trial  or  sentence.  Is  this  a  foul  misre- 
presentation ?  Or  can  you,  with  these  facts  ringing  in  your  ears, 
and  staring  in  your  face,  say,  upon  your  oaths,  they  do  not  exist? 
You  are  called  upon,  in  defiance  of  shame,  of  truth,  of  honour. 
to  deny  the  suflerings  under  which  you  groan,  and  to  flatter  the 


214  LIFK   OF   OUKKAN. 

prosecution  tliat  tramples  you  under  foot.  Gentlemen,  I  am  lot 
accustomed  to  speak  of  circumstances  of  this  kind,  and  tho  igli 
familiarized  as  I  have  been  to  them,  when  I  come  to  speak  of 
them,  my  power  ffdls  me,  my  voice  dies  within  me ;  I  am  not 
able  to  call  upon  you :  it  is  now  I  ought  to  have  strength ;  it  is 
now  I  ought  to  have  energy  and  voice,  but  I  have  none ;  I  am 
like  the  unfortunate  state  of  the  country,  perhaps  like  you.  This 
is  the  time  in  which  I  ought  to  speak,  if  I  can,  or  be  dumb  forever ; 
in  which,  if  you  do  not  speak  as  you  ought — you  ought  to  be 
dumb  forever." 

When  Mr.  Curran  came  to  comment  upon  that  part  of  the  pub- 
lication under  trial,  which  stated  that  informers  Avere  brought  for- 
ward by  the  hopes  of  remuneration — "  Is  that,"  said  he,  "  a  foul 
assertion  ?  or  will  you,  upon  your  oaths,  say  to  the  sister  country, 
that  there  are  no  such  abominable  instruments  of  destruction  as 
informers  used  in  the  state  prosecutions  in  Ireland  ?  Let  me 
honestly  ask  you,  Avhat  do  you  feel  when  in  my  hearing — when, 
in  the  face  of  this  audience,  you  are  called  upon  to  give  a  verdict 
that  every  man  of  us,  and  every  man  of  you,  know,  by  the  testimony 
of  your  own  eyes,  to  be  utterly  and  absolutely  false  ?  I  speak  not 
now  of  the  public  proclamations  for  informers  with  a  promise  of 
secrecy  and  extravagant  reward.  I  speak  not  of  those  unfortunate 
wretches,  who  have  been  so  often  transferred  from  the  table  to  the 
dock,  and  from  the  dock  to  the  pillory — I  speak  of  what  your 
own  eyes  have  seen,  day  after  day,  during  the  course  of  this  com- 
mission, while  you  attended  this  court — the  number  of  horrid 
miscreants  who  acknowledged,  upon  their  oaths,  that  they  had 
come  from  the  seat  of  government — from  the  very  chambers  of 
the  Castle  (where  they  had  been  worked  upon,  by  the  fear  of 
death  and  the  hopes  of  compensation,  to  give  evidence  against 
their  fellows)  that  the  mild,  the  wholesome,  and  merciful  councils 
of  this  Government  are  holden  over  those  catacombs  of  living 
death,  where  the  wretch,  that  is  hurried  a  vian,  lies  till  his  heart 
has  time  to  fester  and  dissolve,  and  is  then  dug  up  a  witness.     Is 


THE  PEEJUKED  WITNESS.       '      215 

tbis  a  picture  created  by  an  hag-ridden  fancy,  or  is  it  fact?  Have 
you  not  seen  hia-,  after  his  resurrection  from  that  tomb,  make  his 
appearance  upon  your  table,  tlie  living  image  of  life  and  death, 
■knd  the  supreme  arbiter  of  both  ?  Have  you  not  marked,  wleu 
he  entered,  how  the  stormy  wave  of  the  multitude  retired  at  liis 
approach  ?  na\  e  you  not  seen  how  the  human  heart  bowed  to 
the  awful  supremacy  of  his  power,  in  the  undissembled  homage 
of  deferential  horror?  How  his  glance,  like  the  lightning  of 
Heaven,  seemed  to  rive  the  body  of  the  accused,  and  mark  it  tor 
the  grave,  while  his  voice  warned  the  devoted  wretch  of  woe  and 
death — a  death  Avhich  no  innocence  can  escape,  no  art  elude,  no 
force  resist,  no  antidote  prevent  ?  There  was  an  antidote — a  juror's 
oath !  But  even  that  adamantine  chain,  which  bound  the  inte 
grity  of  man  to  the  throne  of  eternal  justice,  is  solved  and  molten 
in  the  breath  which  issues  from  the  mouth  of  the  informer.  Con 
science  swings  from  her  moorings ;  the  appalled  and  affrighled 
juror  speaks  what  his  soul  abhors,  and  consults  his  own  safety  in 
the  surrender  of  the  victim— 

et  quae  sibi  quisque  timobat 

Unius  in  miseri  exitium  couversa  tulere. 

Tnforniers  are  worshipped  in  the  temple  of  justice,  even  as  the 
devil  has  been  worshipped  by  Pagans  and  savages — even  so  in 
this  wicked  country,  is  the  informer  an  object  of  judicial  idolatry 
— even  so  is  he  soothed  by  the  music  of  human  groans — even  sc 
is  he  placated  and  iiu'ousod  by  the  fumes  and  by  the  blood  of 
human  sacrifices." 

It  is  some  relief  to  turn  from  these  descriptions  (the  truth  o. 
which  any  who  may  dotibt  it,  will  tiiid  authenticated  by  the  his- 
torian), to  the  attestation  which  the  advocate  bore  (and  which  ho 
was  always  ready  to  bear)  to  the  honourable  and  dignified  demea- 
nour  of  a  presiding  judge.*     "  Vou   are  upon  a   great  forward 

♦  The  Hon.  William  Downes.— C.    [Downes  was  a  dull  and  piosy  man  of  great  bulk,  wUh 
an  immense  face  terminating  in  a  great  double  chin,  like  a  gigantic  dewlap,— CuriAn  saiiV 


216  LIFE   OF   CURRAJSr. 

ground,  with  the  people  at  your  back,  and  the  Government  in 
your  front.  You  have  neither  the  disadvantages  nor  tlie  excuses 
of  juries  a  centuiy  ago.  No,  thank  God !  never  was  there  a 
stronger  characteristic  distinction  between  those  times,  upon  which 
no  man  can  reflect  without  horror,  and  the  present.  You  have 
seen  this  trial  conducted  with  mildness  and  patience  by  the  court. 
We  have  now  no  Jefl'eries,  with  scurvy  and  vulgar  conceits,  to 
browbeat  the  prisoner  and  perplex  his  counsel.  Such  has  beeu 
the  improvement  of  manners,  and  so  calm  the  confidence  of 
integrity,  that  during  the  defence  of  accused  persons,  the  judges 
sit  quietly,  and  show  themselves  worthy  of  their  situation,  by 
bearing,  with  a  mild  and  merciful  patience,  the  little  extravagan- 
cies of  the  bar,  as  you  should  bear  with  the  little  extravagancies 
of  the  press.  Let  me  then  turn  your  eyes  to  that  pattern  of 
mildness  in  the  bench.  The  press  is  your  advocate;  bear  with 
its  excess,  bear  with  everything  but  its  bad  intention.  If  it  comes 
as  a  villanous  slanderer,  treat  it  as  such  ;  but  if  it  endeavour  to 
to  raise  the  honour  and  glory  of  your  country,  remember  that 
you  reduce  its  power  to  a  nonentity,  if  you  stop  its  animadver- 
sions upon  public  measures.  You  should  not  check  the  efi'orts  of 
genius,  nor  damp  the  ardour  of  patriotism.  In  vain  will  you 
desire  the  bird  to  soar,  if  you  meanly  or  madly  steal  from  it  its 
plumage.  Beware  lest,  under  the  pretence  of  bearing  down  the 
licentiousness  of  the  press,  you  extinguish  it  altogether.  Beware 
how  you  rival  the  venal  ferocity  of  those  miscreants,  who  rob  a 
printer  of  the  means  of  bread,  and  claim  from  deluded  royaUv 
the  reward  of  integrity  and  allegiance."* 


"  The  most  appropriato  reply  I  ever  made  in  my  life  was  to  Bushe.  It  is  rather  long  and 
somewhat  laboured,  but  if  you  will  bear  with  me,  I  will  repeat  it  all  in  less  than  half  an 
hour,  by  a  stop  watch.  '  My  Lord  chief  justice  Downes,'  says  Bushe  to  me  one  day,  with 
that  large  plausible  eye,  jjlittering  in  that  kind  of  light  w^hich  reveals  to  a  shrewd  obser-- 
ver  that  he  is  quite  sure  he  has  you,  '  my  Lord  chief  justice  Downes  is  beyond  all  compa- 
rison, tlie  wittiest  companion  I  have  ever  taown  or  heard  of.'  I  looked  into  B.'s  eye,  and 
said  hwin  !  It  required  all  his  own  oil  to  keep  smooth  the  surface  of  that  /rtc«."— M. 
*.The  jury  found  a  verdict  against  the  travei-ser.     The  above  extracts  are  taken  from 


DES'EIJOE   OF   FINNEKT2.  217 

TRIAL    OF    PATRICK    FINNEV. 

Mr.  Curran's  defence  of  Patrick  Finney  (who  was  brought  to 
trial  on  January  16th,  1798,  on  a  charge  of  high  treason),  if  not 
the  most  eloquent,  was  at  least  the  most  successful  of  his  efforts 
at  the  bar.  This  may  be  also  considered  as  the  most  important 
cause  that  he  ever  conducted,  as  far  as  the  number  of  iiis  clients 
could  render  it  so ;  for  in  addition  to  the  prisoner  at  the  bar,  he 
•was  virtually  defending  fifteen  others,  against  whom  there  existed 
the  same  charge,  and  the  same  proof,  and  whose  fates  would  have 
immediately  followed  had  the  evidence  against  Finney  prevailed. 
The  principal  witness  for  the  Crown  in  this  case  was  an  informer, 
named  James  O'Brien,  a  person  whom  his  testimony  upon  this 
trial,  and  his  subsequent  crimes,  have  rendered  notorious  in  Ire- 
laud.  The  infamy  of  this  man's  previous  life  and  morals,  and 
improbability  and  inconsistencies  of  his  story,  were  so  satisfac- 
torily proved  to  the  jury,  that,  making  an  effort  of  firmness  and 
humanity  very  unusual  in  those  days,  they  acquitted  Finney;  and, 
at  the  next  sitting  of  the  court,  the  fifteen  other  prisoners  were  in 
consequence  discharged  from  their  indictments.  [On  taking  the 
oath  of  allegiance,  and  filing  recognizances  for  good  behaviour.] 

In  speaking  of  Finney's  acquittal,  it  would  be  an  act  of  injustice 
to  attribute  it  to  the  ability  of  Mr.  Curran  alone.  He  was  assisted, 
as  he  was  upon  so  many  other  occasions  of  emergency,  by  Mr. 
M'Nally,*  a  gentleman  in  whom  the  client  has  always  found  a 

a  fuller  report  of  Mr.  Curran's  speech  upon  this  occasion  than  that  which  is  to  be  found  in 
the  published  collection. — C. 

[Finnerty  was  sentenced  to  two  years'  iniprisonmeiit,  to  stand  in  the  pillory  for  an 
hour,  to  pay  a  fine  of  £20,  and  to  give  security  for  liia  future  good  behaviour.  He  finally 
became  a  member  of  the  newspaper  press  in  London,  and  suffered  imprisonment,  in  that 
capacity,  for  the  piililication  of  seditious  lil)L-ls.] — M. 

*  Leonard  M'Nally,  Esq.,  for  many  years  an  eminent  Irish  barrister,  and  long  since 
known  to  the  Engli.sh  public  as  the  aiiilior  of  Robin  Hood,  and  other  successful  dramatic 
pieces,  the  productions  of  his  earlier  days.  Among  many  endearing  traits  in  this  gentle- 
man's private  character,  his  duvoted  attachment  to  Mr.  Curran's  person  ami  fame,  and, 
eince  his  death,  to  the  inten  s  s  of  his  memory,  has  been  conspicuous.  The  writer  of  this 
cannot  advert  to  the  ardour  and  tenderness  with  which  he  cherishes  the  latter,  without 
emotions  of  the  most  lively  and  respectful  gratitude.    To  Mr.  M'Nully  he  has  to  expresj 

10 


218  LIFE    OF    CUKRAN. 

zealous,  intrepid  advocate,  and  in  whom  Mr.  Curran,  from  his 
youth  to  his  latest  hour,  possessed  a  most  aftectionate,  unshaken, 
ajd  disinterested  friend.  An  instance  of  Mr.  Curran's  confidence 
in  the  talents  of  his  colleague  occurred  upon  this  trial ;  the  cir- 
cumstance, too,  may  not  be  without  interest,  as  an  example  cf  the 
accidents  which  influence  the  most  important  questions. 

The  only  mode  of  saving  their  client  was  Ly  impeaching  the 
credit  of  O'Brien.  It  appeared  in  their  instructions  that  they  had 
some,  though  not  unexceptionable,  evidence  of  his  having  extorted 
money,  by  assuming  the  character  of  a  revenue  oflicer. 

Some  extracts  from  the  cross-examination  of  this  witness  !:'hall 
be  inserted  as  too  singular,  on  many  accounts,  to  be  omitted.  It 
should  be  observed  that  Mr.  Curran,  upon  this  occasion,  departed 
in  some  measure  from  his  ordinary  method  of  confounding  the 
perjurer.  Instead  of  resorting  to  menace  or  ridicule,  he  began  by 
affecting  a  tone  of  respect,  and  even  submission ;  and,  by  thus  en 
couraging  O'Brien's  insolence,  threvs^  him  oft'  his  guard,  and  led 
him  on  more  completely  to  develope  his  own  character  to  the 
jury  :— 

James  O'Brien  cross-examined  hy  Mr.  Curran 

Q.  Pray,  Mr.  O'Brien,  whence  came  you? 

A.  Speak  in  a  way  I  will  understand  you. 

Q,  Do  you  not  understand  me  ? 

A.  Whence  ?    I  am  here.    Do  you  mean  the  place  I  came  from  ? 

Q.  By  your  oath,  do  you  not  understand  it  ? 

many  obligations  for  the  zeal  with  which  he  has  assisted  in  procuring  and  supplying 
materials  for  the  present  work.  The  introduction  of  these  private  feelings  is  not  entirely 
out  of  place — it  can  never  be  out  of  place  to  record  an  example  of  stedfastness  in  friend- 
ship. For  three  and  forty  years  Mr.  M'Nally  was  the  friend  of  the  subject  of  these  pages ; 
and  during  that  long  period,  uninfluenced  by  any  obligation,  more  than  once,  at  his  own 
perBOnal  risk  in  repelling  the  public  calamities  which  Mr.  Curran's  political  conduct  had 
provoked,  he  performed  the  duties  of  the  relation  with  the  most  uncompromising  and 
romantic  fidelity.  To  state  this  is  a  debt  of  justice  to  the  dead :  the  survivor  has  an 
ampler  reward  than  any  passing  tribute  of  this  sort  can  confer,  in  the  recollection  that 
during  their  long  intercourse  not  even  an  unkind  look  ever  passed  between  them. — C. 
Leonard  M'Nally  died  on  the  15th  of  February,  1820.— M. 


JEMMY    o'bKIEN.  219 

A.  I  partly  censure  it  now. 

Q.  Now  that  you  partly  censure  the  question,  answer  it.   Where 
,  did  you  come  from  ? 

A.  From  the  Castle. 

Q.  l>o  you  live  there  ? 

A.  I  do  while  I  am  there. 

Q.  You  are  welcome,  sir,  to  practice  your  wit  iijioii  me.  Where 
did  you  live  before  you  came  to  Dublin  ? 

A.  In  the  Queen's  county. 

Q.  What  way  of  life  were  you  engaged  in  before  you  came  to 
Dublin  ? 

A.  I  had  a  farm  of  land  which  my  father  left  me ;  and  I  let  it, 
and  afterwards  sold  it,  and  came  to  Dublin  to  follow  business  I 
learned  before  my  father's  death.  I  served  four  years  to  Mr. 
Latouche  of  Marley. 

Q.  To  what  business  ? 

A.  A  gardener. 

Q.  Were  you  an  excise  officer  ? 

A.  No. 

Q.  Nor  ever  acted  as  one  ? 

A,  I  don't  doubt  but  T  may  have  gone  of  messages  for  one 

Q.  Who  was  that  ? 

A.  A  man  of  the  name  of  Fitzpatrick. 

Q.  He  is  an  excise  officer  ? 

A.  So  I  understand. 

Q.  What  messages  did  you  go  for  him  ? 

A.  For  money  when  he  was  lying  on  a  sick  bed. 

Q.  To  whom  ? 

A.  To  several  of  the  people  in  his  walk. 

Q.  But  you  never  pretended  to  be  an  officer  yourself? 

A.  As  I  have  been  walking  with  him,  and  had  clean  dotlich  on 
me,  he  might  have  said  to  the  persons  he  met  that  I  was  an  excise 
officer. 

Q.  But  did  you  never  pretend  to  be  an  officer  ? 


220  LIFE    OF   CUKBAN. 

A.  I  never  did  pretend  to  be  an  officer. 

Q.  Did  you  ever  pass  yourself  for  a  revenue  officer  ? 

A.  I  answered  that  before. 

Q.  I  do  not  want  to  give  you  any  unnecessary  trouble,  sir ;  treat 
me  with  the  same  respect  I  shall  treat  you.  I  ask  you  ao^am,  did 
you  ever  pa^s  yourself  for  a  revenue  officer  ? 

A.  Never,  barring  when  I  was  in  drink,  and  the  like. 

Q.  Then,  when  you  have  been  drunk,  you  ha\-e  passed  as  a. 
revenue  officer  ? 

A.  I  do  not  know  what  I  have  done  when  I  was  drunk. 

Q.  Did  you  at  any  time,  drunk  or  sober,  pass  yourself  a»  a 
revenue  officer? 

A.  Never,  when  sober. 

Q.  Did  you,  drunk  or  sober  ? 

A.  I  cannot  say  what  I  did  when  I  w.is  drunk. 

Q.  Can  you  form  a  belief— I  ask  you  upon  your  oath — you  are 
upon  a  solemn  occasion— Did  yOu  pass  yourself  for  a  revenue 
officer  ? 

A.  I  cannot  say  what  liappened  to  me  when  I  was  drunk. 

Q.  What !  Do  you  say  you  might  have  done  it  when  you  were 
drunk  ? 

A.  I  cannot  recollect  what  passed  in  my  drink; 
Q.  Are  you  in  the  habit  of  being  drunk  ? 
A.  Not  now ;  but  some  time  back  I  was. 
Q.  Very  fond  of  drink  ? 
A.  Very  fond  of  drink. 

Q.  Do  you  remember  to  whom  you  passed  yourself  for  a  reve- 
oue  officer  ? 

A.  I  do  not. 

Q.  Do  you  know  the  man  who  keeps  the  Red  Cow,  of  the 
name  of  Cavanao-h  ? 

A.  Where  does  he  live  ? 

Q.  Do  you  not  know  yourself? 

A.  There  is  one  Red  Cow  above  the  Fox  and  Geese. 


JEMMY    o'kV^TRW.  221 

Q.  Did  you  ever  pass  yourself  as  a  revenue  officer  there  ? 

A.  I  never  was  there  t-ut  wUli  Fitzpatrick ;  and  one  day  there 
had  been  a  scuffle,  and  he  abused  Fitzpatrick  and  threatened  him ; 
I  drank  some  whiskey  there,  and  paid  for  it,  and  went  to  Fitz- 
patrick and  told  him,  and  I  summoned  Cavanagh. 

Q,  For  selling  spirits  wi.thout  licence? 

A.  I  did,  and  comprocnised  the  business. 

Q.  By  taking  money  and  not  prosecuting  him  ? 

A.  Yes. 

Q.  Did  you  put  money  in  vour  own  pocket  by  that? 

A.  I  did. 

Q.  But  you  swear  you  never  passed  yourself  for  a  revenue  officer? 

A.  Barring  when  J  was  drunk. 

Q.  Were  you  drunk  when  you  sumrjoned  Cavanagh  ? 

A.  Xo. 

Q.  When  you  did  not  prosecute  him  5 

A.  No. 

Q.  When  you  put  his  money  into  your  pocket? 

A.  No. 

Q.  Do  you  know  a  man  of  the  name  of  Patrick  Lamb  ? 

A.  I  do  not ;  but  if  you  brighti^n  my  memory,  I  may  recol'ect. 

Q.  Did  you  ever  tell  any  mar.  you  were  a  supernumerary,  and 
that  your  walk  was- Rathfarnham  and  Tallaght? 

A.  I  never  did,  except  when  I  was  drunk ;  but  I  never  did  any- 
thing but  what  was  honest  when  I  was  sober, 

Q.  Do  you  believe  you  did  say  it  ? 

A.  I  do  not  know  what  I  raiofht  have  said  when  T  was  drunk. 
You  know  when  a  man  is  walking  with  an  exciseman,  he  gets  a 
glass  at  every  house. 

Mr.  Ourran. — I  know  no  such  thing,  never  having  walked  with 
an  exciseman. 

Witness. — Then,  you  may  know  it. 

Q.  Do  you  know  any  man  passing  by  the  name,  or  called 
Patrick  Lamb? 


222  LIFE   OF  CUERAN. 

A.  Not  that  I  recollect,  upon  my  word. 

Q.  Upon  your  oath  ? 

A.  I  do  not  recollect :  I  mean  to  tell  everything  against  myself 
as  against  any  other. 

Q.  Do  you  know  a  person  of  the  name  of  Margaret  Moore? 

A.  Where  does  she  live  ?     Is  she  married  ? 

Q.  She  lives  near  Stradbally.     Do  you  know  her  ? 

A.  I  knovir  her  well — I  thought  it  might  be  another.  I  was 
courting  a  woman  of  that  name  before  my  marriage. 

Q.  Did  you  come  to  Dublin  before  her  or  after  ? 

A.  I  was  in  Dublin  before  I  knew  her. 

Q.  Did  you  get  a  decree  against  her  ? 

A.  I  did  get  a  summons  for  money  she  owed  me. 

Q-.  Were  you  taken  to  the  Court  of  Conscience  by  her  ? 

A.  No.     (Contradicted  by  the  evidence  on  the  defence.) 
****** 

Q.  When  you  met  Hyland,  were  you  an  United  Irishman  ? 

A.  Always  imited  to  every  honest  man. 

Q.  Were  you  an  United  Irishman  ? 

A.  Never  sworn. 

Q.  Were  you  in  any  manner  an  United  Irishman  before  that 
day? 

A.  Never  sworn  in  before  that  day. 

Q.  Were  you  in  any  manner  ? 

A.  Do  n't  I  tell  you  that  I  was  united  to  every  honest  man  ? 

Q.  Do  you  believe  you  are  answering  my  question  ? 

A.  I  do.  ' 

Q.  Were  you  ever  in  any  society  of  United  Irishmen  before 
that  day  ? 

A.  I  do  not  at  all  know  but  I  may,  but  without  my  knowledge: 
they  might  be  in  the  next  box  to  me,  or  in  the  end  of  the  seat 
with  me,  and  I  not  know  them. 

Q.  Were  you  ever  in  a  society  of  United  Irishmen  but  that 
day? 


JEMMY  o'breen.  223 

A.  I  was  since. 

Q.  Were  you  ever  of  tlieir  meetings,  or  did  you  know  anything 
of  tlieir  business  before  that  day? 

A.  No ;  but  I  have  heard  of  the  Defenders'  business. 

Q.  "Were  you  of  their  society  ? 

A..  No ;  bat  wlien  they  came  to  my  father's  house,  I  went  to 
Admiral  Cosby's  and  kept  guard  there,  and  threatened  to  shoot 
any  of  them  that  would  come;  one  Connelly  told  me  I  was  to  be 
murdered  for  this  expression. 

Q.  Hyland  made  signs  to  you  in  the  street? 

A.  He  did. 

Q.  Did  you  answer  them  ? 

A.  No. 

Q.  Why  did  you  not  ? 

A.  Because  I  did  not  know  how. 

Q.  Then,  is  your  evidence  this — that  you  went  into  the  house 
in  order  to  save  your  life  ? 

A.  I  was  told  that  I  miijht  lose  mv  life  before  I  went  half  a 
street,  if  I  did  not. 

Q.  Then,  it  was  from  the  fear  of  being  nuirdered  before  you 
should  go  half  a  street,  that  you  went  in  to  be  an  United  Irish- 
man? 

A.  You  have  often  heard  of  men  beintr  murdered  in  the  busi- 
ness. 

Q.  Do  you  believe  that  ? 

A.  I  do :  it  is  common  through  the  country ;  I  have  read  the 
proclamations  upon  it,  and  you  may  have  done  so  too. 

Q.  How  soon,  after  you  were  sworn,  did  you  see  the  magistrate  ? 

A.  I  was  sworn  upon  the  2oth,  and  upon  the  28th  I  was 
brought  to  Lord  Portarlington ;  and  in  the  interval  of  the  two 
days,  Hyland  Mas  with  me  and  dined  with  me. 

Q.  Why  did  you  not  gc  the  next  day  ? 

A.  Because  I  did  not  get  clear  of  them,  and  they  might 
murder  me. 


224:  LIFE    OF   CURRAN. 

Q.  Where  did  you  sleep  the  first  night  after  ? 

A.  At  my  own  place.     I  was  very  full — very  drunk. 

Q.  Did  either  of  them  sleep  there  ? 

A.  No. 

Q.  Where  did  you  live  ? 

A.  In  Keven  street,  among  some  friends  good  to  the  same 
cause. 

Q.  Where  did  you  see  Hyland  the  next  day  ? 

A.  He  came  to  me  next  morning  before  I  was  out  of  bed,  and 
stayed  all  day,  and  dined :  we  drank  full  in  the  evening. 

Q.  What  became  of  you  the  next  day  ? 

A.  Hyland  came  early  again,  and  stayed  all  day.  I  was  after 
getting  two  guineas  from  my  brother.  I  was  determined  to  see  it 
out — to  know  their  conspiracies  after  I  was  sworn. 

Q.  Then,  you  meant  to  give  evidence  ? 

A.  I  never  went  to  a  meeting  that  I  did  not  give  au  account 
of  it. 

****** 

Q.  Do  you  know  Charles  Clarke,  of  Blue  Bell  ? 

A-.  I  have  heard  of  such  a  man. 

Q.  You  do  not  know  him  ? 

A.  I  do :  I  do  not  mean  to  tell  a  lie. 

Q.  You  did  not  know  him  at  first  ? 

A.  There  are  many  men  of  the  name  of  Clarke ;  I  did  not 
know  but  it  might  be  some  other.  It  did  not  immediately  come 
into  niy  memory. 

Q.  You  thought  it  might  be  some  other  Clarke? 

A.  There  is  a  Clarke  came  in  to  me  yesterday. 

Q.  Did  you  ever  get  money  from  Clarke,  of  Blue  Bell,  as  an 
excise  officer? 

A.  I  got  3s.  Sd.  from  him  not  to  tell  Fitzpatrick :  he  did  not 
know  me,  and  I  bought  spirits  there ;  and  seeing  me  walk  with  an 
exciseman,  he  was  afraid  I  would  tell  of  him,  and  he  gave  me 
3s.  3d. 


JEMMY   o'bKIEN.  2 'if* 

Q.  And  you  put  it  in  your  pocket  ? 

A.  To  be  sure. 
****** 

Q.  Did  you  p;iss  youtself  as  a  revenue  officer  upon  liini  ? 

A.  No. 

Q.  You  swear  that  ? 

A.  I  do.  ^ 

Q.  You  know  a  man  of  the  name  of  Edwai-d  Purcell? 

A.  That  is  the  man  that  led  me  into  everything.  Jle  has 
fig'ured  among  United  Irislmien.  He  got  about  £40  of  tiioir 
money,  and  went  off.     He  has  been  wrote  to  several  times. 

Q.  How  came  you  to  know  him  ? 

A.  Throngii  the  friendship  of  Fitzpatrick.  He  had  Fitzpa- 
trick's  wife,  as  a  body  might  say,  having  another  man's  wife. 

Q.  He  made  you  acquainted  ? 

A.  I  saw  him  there,  and  Fitzpatrick  well  contented. 

Q.  Did  you  ever  give  him  a  recipe  ? 

A.  I  did. 

Q.  "Was  it  for  money  ? 

A.  No. 

Q.  What  was  it  ? 

A.  It  Avas  partly  an  order,  M'here  Hyland,  he,  and  I,  hoped  to  be 
together.  It  was  a  pass-word  I  gave  him  to  go  to  Hylaiid  to  buy 
light  gold  that  I  knew  was  going  to  the  country. 

Q.  Did  you  ever  give  him  any  other  recipe  ? 

A.  I  do  not  know  but  I  might :  we  had  many  dealing's. 

Q.  Had  you  many  dealings  in  recipes  ? 

A.  In  recipes  ? 

Q.  I  mean  recipes  to  do  a  thing ;  as,  to  make  a  pudding,  &c. 
Did  you  give  him  recipes  of  that  nature? 

A.  I  do  not  know  but  I  might  give  him  recipes  to  do  a  great 
number  of  things. 

Q.  To  do  a  great  number  of  things  ?     What  are  they  '■ 

A.  Tell  me  the  smallest  hint,  and  T  will  tell  the  truth. 

10* 


226  LIFE   OF   CURRAN. 

Q.  Upon  that  engagement,  I  will  tell  you.  Did  you  ever  give 
him  a  recipe  to  turn  silver  into  gold,  or  copper  into  silver  ? 

A.  Yes  ;  for  turning  copper  into  silver. 

Q.  You  have  kept  your  word  ? 

A.  I  said  I  would  tell  everything  against  myself. 

Q.  Do  you  consider  that  against  yourself? 

A.  I  tell  you  the  truth  :  I  gave  him  a  recipe  for  making  copper 
money  like  silver  money. 

Q.  What  did  you  give  it  him  for?  Did  he  make  use  of  it? 
Was  it  to  protect  his  copper  from  being  changed  that  you  did  it ''. 

A.  He  was  very  officious  to  make  things  in  a  light  easy  way, 
without  much  trouble,  to  make  his  bread  light :  but  I  did  it  more 
in  fun  than  profit. 

Q.  You  did  not  care  how  much  coin  he  made  by  it  ? 

A.  I  did  not  care  how  much  coin  he  made  by  it :  he  might  put 
it  upon  the  market  cross. 

Q.  Do  you  say  you  do  not  care  how  many  copper  shillings  he 
made? 

A.  I  did  not  care  whether  he  made  use  of  it  or  not. 

Q.  Upon  your  solemn  oath,  you  say  that  you  did  not  care  how 
many  base  shillings  he  made  in  consequence  of  the  recipe  you 
gave  him  ? 

A.  I  did  not  care  how  many  he  told  of  it,  or  what  he  did 
with  it. 

Q.  Had  you  never  seen  it  tried  ? 

A.  No,  I  never  saw  the  recipe  I  gave  him  tried ;  but  I  saw 
others  tried. 

Q.  For  making  copper  look  like  silver  ? 

A.  To  be  sure. 

Q.  Do  you  recollect  whether  you  gave  him  half-a-crown,  upon 
which  that  recipe  was  tried  ? 

A.  I  never  saw  it  tried ;  but  I  gave  him  a  bad  half-crown.     I 

did  not  give  it  him  in  payment:  I  did  it  more  to  humbug  him 

than  anvthing  else. 

*    '  *  «  *  *  * 


AN   AKTFUL   DODGE.  227 

Q.  Do  you  know  Mr.  Roberts  ? 

A.  What  Mr.  Roberts  ? 

Q.  Mr.  Arthur  Robert?  of  Stradbally  'i 

A.  I  do. 

Q.  Did  you  ever  talk  to  any  persop  about  his  giving  a  charac- 
ter of  you  ? 

A.  He  could  not  give  a  bad  character  of  me. 

Q.  Did  you  ever  tell  any  person  about  bis  giving  you  a 
("haracter  ? 

A.  I  say  now,  in  the  hearing  of  the  court  and  jury,  that  I  heard 
of  his  being  summoned  against  me  ;  and,  unless  be  would  forswear 
himself,  he  could  not  give  me  a  bad  character. 

Q.  Did  you  ever  say  you  would  do  anything  against  him  ? 

A.  I  said  I  Avould  settle  him  ;  but  do  you  know  how  ?  There 
was  a  matter  about  an  auction  that  I  would  tell  of  him. 

Q.  Had  you  a  weapon  in  your  hand  at  the  time  ? 

A.  I  believe  I  had  a  sword. 

Q.  And  a  pistol  ? 

A.  Yes. 

Q.  And  you  had  them  in  your  hand  at  the  time  you  made  the 
declaration  ? 

A.  I  knew  he  was  a  government  man  ;  and  I  would  not  do 
any  thing  to  him  in  the  way  of  assassination. 

•  — 

Wliile  Mr.  Curran  was  cross-examining  O'Brien  upon  the  point 
of  his  assuming  the  character  of  a  revenue  oflicer,  the  prisonci's 
agent  accidentally  heard,  from  some  of  the  by-standers,  that  there 
was  a  man  residing  at  \ho  distance  of  a  few  miles  from  Dublii , 
whose  testimony  would  place  beyond  a  doubt  thai  0'"Brien  wms 
perjuring  himself  in  the  answei-s  that  ho  returned.  A  chaise  was 
immediately  despatched,  to  bring  up  this  person;  and,  in  tlie  infer- 
val,  it  was  proposed  by  Mr.  Curran.  that  he,  who,  as  senior,  was 
to  have  commenced  the  prisoner's  defence,  should  reserve  himsell" 
for  the  speech  to  evidence,  and  that  his  colleague  should  state  the 


228  LIFE   OF   CUKRAK. 

case,  and  continue  speaking  as  long  as  he  could  find  a  syllable  to 
say^  so  as  to  give  time  to  the  chaise  to  return  before  the  trial 
should  be  over.  The  latter,  in  whose  character  there  was  as  little 
of  mental  as  of  personal  timidity,  accepted  the  proposal  without 
hesitation,  and  for  once  bel3'ing  the  maxim  that  "  brevity  is  the 
soul  of  wit,"  produced  an  oration  so  skilfully  voluminous,  that, 
by  the  time  it  was  concluded,  which  was  not  imtil  his  physical 
strength  was  utterly  exhausted,  the  evening  w-as  so  far  advanced, 
that  the  Court  readily  consented  to  a  temporary  adjournment,  for 
the  purpose  of  refreshment;  and  before  it  resumed  its  sitting,  the 
material  witness  for  the  prisoner  had  arrived.  * 

For  this  important  service  rendered  to  their  cause,  Mr.  Curran, 
in  his  address  to  the  jury,  paid  his  colleague  a  tribute,  to  which,  as 
a  man  and  an  advocate,  he  was  so  well  entitled.  When,  in  the 
commencement  of  his  speech,  he  aduded  to  the  statement  of  his 
friend,  and  expressed  "  his  reluctance  to  repeat  any  part  of  it,  for 
fear  of  weakening  it,"  he  turned  round  to  him,  threw  his  arm 
affectionately  over  his  shoulder,  and,  with  that  pathetic  fervour  of 
accent  so  peculiarly  his  own,  addressed  him  thus :  "  My  old  and 
excellent  friend,  I  have  long  known  and  respected  the  honesty  of 
your  heart,  but  never,  until  this  occasion,  was  I  acquainted  with 
the  extent  of  your  abilities,  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  paying 
compliments  where  they  are  undeserved."  Tears  fell  from.  Mr. 
Curran  as  he  hung  over  his  fi'isnd,  and  jironounced  these  few  and 
simple  words ;  and,  however  unimposing  they  may  appear  iii  the 
repetition,  it  certainly  was  not  the  part  of  his  defence  of  Finnerty 
that  touched  the  jury  the  least. 

His  speech  in  this  case  (particularly  in  the  imperfect  report  of 
it  that  has  appeared)  does  not  contain  many  passages  calculated 
to  delight  in  the  closet.  It  is  chiefly  occupied  in  developing  the 
atrocities  of  the  detestable  O'Brien ;  and  this  object  he  accom- 

*  Thomas  DaviB,  who  edited  the  last  coUeclion  of  Curran's  speeches,  possessed  Leonard 
McNally's  own  copy  (a  gift  from  Curran  himself)  and  left  a  memorandum  to  the  effect 
that  he  spoke  for  three  hours  and  a  half. — M. 


A   PERJUKED    WITNESS.  229 

plished  with  sig-nnl  success.  That  wretch,  w  liu  hail,  in  the  early- 
part  of  the  trial,  comported  himself  with  so  much  triumphant 
insolence,  was  for  a  moment  appalled  by  Mr.  Curran's  description 
of  his  villanics,  and  by  the  indignant  fury  of  his  glances.  He 
was  observed  palpably  shrinking  before  the  latter,  and  taking 
slielter  in  the  crowd  which  thronged  the  Court.  The  advocate 
«.iid  not  fail  to  take  advantage  of  such  a  circumstance.  "  What 
ivas  the  evidence  of  the  innocent,  imlettered,  poor  fjirmer  Cava- 
nagli ;  pursuing  the  even  tenor  of  his  way  in  the  paths  of  honest 
industry,  he  is  in  the  act  of  fulfilling  the  decree  of  his  Maker — he 
is  earning  his  bread  by  the  sweat  of  his  brow,  when  this  villain, 
less  pure  than  the  arch-fiend  who  bi'ought  this  sentence  of  labori- 
ous action  on  mankind,  enters  the  habitation  of  peace  and  honest 
industry;  and,  not  content  with  dipping  his  tongue  in  perjury, 
robs  the  poor  man  of  two  guineas.  AVhere  is  O'J^rien  now? — 
Do  you  wonder  that  he  .is  afraid  of  my  eye  ' — that  he  ]jas  buried 
himself  in  tlie  crowd  ? — that  he  crept  under  the  shade  of  the 
multitude  wiien  this  witness  would  have  disentangled  his  evidence  ? 
Do  you  not  feel  that  he  was  appalled  with  horror,  by  that  more 
piercing  and  penetrating  eye  that  looks  npon  him,  and  upon  mc, 
and  upon  us  all  ?  At  this  moment  even  the  bold  and  daring 
villany  of  O'Brien  stood  abashed  ;  he  saw  the  eye  of  Heaven  in 
that  of  an  innocent  and  injured  man  ;  perhaps  the  feeling  was 
consummated  by  a  glance  from  the  dock — his  heart  boi-e  testi- 
mony to  his  guilt,  and  he  fled  for  the  s;une.  I)<)  you  know  him, 
gentlemen  of  the  jury  ? — Are  yt)u  acquainted  with  .lauies  0'l>rien  ? 
If  you  are,  let  him  come  forward  from  the  crowd  whcic  he  has 
hid  himself,  and  claim  you  by  a  look." 

Tlie  religions  character  of  l\Ir.  Curran's  addresses  to  juries, 
dm-infr  these  convulsed  times,  has  been  already  adverted  to;  of 
this  the  conchision  of  his  defence  of  Finney  aftbrds  a  striking 
example : — 

"This  is  the  great  experiment  of  the  informers  of  Ireland,  to 
ascertain  how  for  they  can   carry  on  a  traffic  in  human  bloocl. 


230  LD'fi  OF   CUKKAN. 

This  cannibal  informer,  this  demon,  O'Brien,  greedy  after  liiimau 
gore,  has  fifteen  other  victims  in  reserve,  if  from  your  verdict  he 
receives  the  unhappy  man  at  the  bar — fifteen  more  of  your  fellow- 
citizens  are  now  in  gaol,  depending  on  tlie  fate  of  the  unfortunate 
prisoner,   and   on   the  same 'blasted   and   perjured   evidence   of 
O'Brien.     Be  you  then  tlieir  savio\irs ;   let  your  verdict  snatch 
them  from  his  ravening  maw,  and  interpose  between  yourselves 
and  endless  remorse.     The  character  of  the  prisoner  has  been 
given.     Am  I  not  warranted  in  saying  that  I  am  now  defending 
an  innocent  fellow-subject  on  the  grounds  of  eternal  justice  and 
immutable  law  ?  and  on  that  eternal  law  I  do  call  upon  you  to 
acquit  my  client.     I  call  upon  yoi|  for  your  justice  1     Great  is  the 
reward  and  sweet  the  recollection  in  the  hour  of  trial,  and  in  the 
day  of  dissoluiion,  when  tlie  casualties  of  life  are  pressing  close 
upon  the  heart,  or  when  in  the  agonies  of  death  you  look  back  to 
the  justifiable  and  honourable  transactions  of  your  life.     At  the 
awful  foot  of  eternal  justice,  I  do  therefore  invite  you  to  acquit  my 
client;  and  may  God  of  his  infinite  mercy  grant  you  a  more  last- 
ing reward  than  that  perishable  crown  we  read  of,  which  the 
ancients  placed  on  the  brow  of  him  who  sased  in  battle  the  life  of 
a  fellow-citizen?     In  the  name  of  public  justice  I  do  implore  you 
to  interpose  between  the  perjurer  and  his  intended  victim;  and  if 
ever  you  are  assailed  by  the  hand  of  the  informer,  may  you  ii:i.! 
an  all-powerful  refuge  in  the  example  which,  as  jurors,  you  .shall 
set  this  day  to  those  that  might  be  called  to  pass  iq>on  your  lives, 
that  of  repelling,  at  the  h'uman  tribunal,  the  intended  effects  oi' 
hireling  peijury  and  premeditated  murder.     And  if  it  should  be 
the  fate  of  any  of  you  to  comit  the  tedious  moments  of  captivity, 
in  soi'row  and  pain,  pining  in  the  damps  and  gloom  of  a  dungeon, 
while  the  wicked  one  is  going  about  at  large,  seeking  whom  he 
may  devour,  recollect  that  there  is  another  more  awful  tribunal 
than  any  upon  earth,  which  we  must  all  approach,  and  before 
which  the  best  of  us  will  have  occasion  to  look  back  to  what  little 
good  we  may  have  done  on  this  sir^e  the  grave.     In  that  avrful 


KETRIBUTIYE   JUSTICE.  231 

trial — oh !  may  your  verdict  this  day  assure  your  hopes,  and  give 
you  strength  and  consolation,  in  the  presence  of  an  adjudging 
God.  Earnestly  do  I  pray  that  the  author  of  eternal  justice  may 
record  the  innocent  deed  you  shall  have  done,  and  give  to  you  the 
full  benefit  of  your  claims  to  an  eternal  reward,  a  requital  in 
mercy  upon  your  souls." 

The  fate  of  O'Brien  is  almost  a  necessary  sequel  to  tlie  trial  of 
Finney.  Mr.  Curran,  whom  long  observation  in  the  exercise  of 
his  profession  had  familiarised  to  ever}*  gradation  of  atrocity, 
declared  at  the  time,  that,  much  as  he  had  seen  of  crime,  he  had 
never  met  with  such  inteii.K^,  unmitigated  villany,  as  tlie  conduct 
and  countenance  of  this  ruffian  manifested ;  and  he  did  not  hesi 
tate  to  predict,  that  some  act  of  guilt  would  shoi-lt'ii  his  career. 
Ti\o  years  after,  O'Brien  was  tried  for  nmrder,*  .iinl  b\  a  kind  of 
retributive  justic<^,  the  two  counsel  who  had  rescued  Fiuiiey  were 
appointed  to  conduct  the  prosecution. 

Mr.  Curran's  speech  in  O'Brien's  case  is  not  disfinguislied  by 
much  eloquence;  but  it  possesses  one  quality,  infinitely  more 
honourable  to  him  than  any  display  of  talent  could  have  been.  It 
is  full  of  moderation,  resembling  as  luiich  the  charge  of  a  judge 
as  the  statement  of  a  prosecutor,  and  contains  no  vindictive  allu- 
sion to  the  previous  crimes  of  the  piisoncr.  'J'his  the  following 
exti-act  will  show : 

"The  present  trial  is  considered  abi'oad  as  of  some  expectation. 
I  am  very  well  aware  that  when  a  judicial  in(juiry  becomes  the 
topic  of  public  and  general  conversation,  eveiy  conversation  is  in 
itself  a  little  trial  of  the  fact.  The  voice  of  public  fame,  the 
falsest  witness  that  ever  Avas  sworn  or  unsworn,  is  always  ready  to 
bear  testimony  to  the  prejudice  of  an  individual.  The  mind  be- 
comes heated,  and  it  can  scarcely  be  expected,  even  in  a  jury-box. 


♦  An  assemblage  of  persons  of  the  low<r  orders  having  taken  place  in  the  suburbs  of 
Dublin,  for  the  purpose  of  recreation,  the  officers  of  the  police,  accompanied  by  O'Brien, 
proceeded  to  disperse  them.  The  multitude  fled,  and  in  the  pursuit  one  of  them  (named 
Hoey)  was  murdered  by  O'Brien. — C. 


232  LIFE    OF   CURRAN'. 

to  find  it  cool,  and  reflecting,  and  iniinterested.  There  are  two 
Iriliunals  to  wliicli  every  man  must  be  amenable;  the  one  a  muni- 
cipal tribunal,  the  otiier  the  great,  and  general,  and  despotic  tri- 
bunal of  public  reputation.  If  the  jury  have  any  reason  to  sup- 
pose that  any  man  who  comes  before  them  has  been  already  tried 
l)y  })ublic  fame,  and  condemned,  I  beg  to  remind  them  of  the 
solemn  duty  that  justice  imposes  on  them  ;  to  turn  their  eyes 
au'ay  from  the  recollection  that  any  sentence  of  that  sort  of  con- 
demnation has  been  pronounced  by  the  voice  of  public  reputation  ; 
and  if  they  think  that  his  character  has  sunk  under  such  a  sen- 
tence, T  i-emind  the  jujy,  that  the  infamy  of  such  a  condemnation 
is  enough  without  their  taking  it  into  their  consideration.  It  is 
the  duty  of  the  jury  to  leave  the  decrees  of  that  coui't  to  be  exe- 
cuted by  its  own  authority,  for  they  have  no  right  to  pass  sentence 
of  condemnation  upon  any  man  becaiise  that  ill-judging  court 
may  have  passed  sentence  on  his  character.  They  ought  to 
recollect,  that  the  evidence  given  before  that  court  was  unsworn, 
and  therefore  they  are  bound  to  consider  the  evidence  before  them 
naked  and  simple,  as  if  they  had  never  heard  tho*  name  of  the 
man  they  are  to  try,  and  the  sentence  of  condemnation  tliat  pub- 
lic fame  had  pronounced  upon  his  character.  There  is  but  one 
point  of  view  in  which  public  character  ought  to  be  taken  ;  that 
is  where  there  is  doubt.  In  such  a  case  general  good  character 
ought  to  have 'great  weiglit,  and  go  towards  the  acquittal  of  the 
accused  ;  but  should  it  so  happen  that  general  bad  character  should 
be  thrown  into  the  scale,  it  ought  not  to  have  one  twentieth  part 
the  weight  that  good  character  should  have. 

"The  jury,  I  am  satisfied,  will  deliberately  and  cautiously  weigh 
the  evidence  to  be  produced ;  they  must  be  perfectly  satisfied  in 
their  minds  of  the  guilt  of  the  prisoner.  They  must  feel  an  irre- 
sistible and  coercive  force  acting  on  them,  from  the  weight  of  the 
evidence,  before,  by  their  verdict,  they  pronounce  that  melancholy 
sentence  which  would  remove  a  muivlerer  from  the  face  of  the 
earth." 


JEMMY   o'eEIEN.  233 

O'Brien  was  o'.'uvicted  and  executed.  The  populace  of  most 
countries  are  too  disposed  to  regard  the  death  of  the  greatest 
criminals  with  sympathy  and  regret ;  but  so  predominant  were  the 
feelings  of  terror  and  detestation  which  O'Brien's  character  had 
excited,  that  his  execution  was  accompanied  by  sliouts  of  the  most 
unusual  and  horrid  exultation. 

Before  dismissing  the  subject  of  this  wretched  man,  one  obser- 
vation should  be  made,  of  which  the  omission  might  seem  to 
imply  a  reproach  upon  the  conduct  of  the  prosecutors  in  Finney's 
case.  It  may  occur,  that  the  information  of  such  a  person  should 
not  have  gained  a  moment's  attention,  still  less  have  endangered 
the  lives  of  sO  many  subjects.  It  is,  therefore,  only  just  to  add, 
tliat  the  real  character  of  O'Brien  was  unknown  to  the  officers 
of  the  Crown,  until  it  became  developed  in  the  progress  of  the 
trial.  The  Attorney-General,  who  conducted  that  prosecution,  was 
the  late  Lord  Kilwarden,  a  man  the  most  reverse  of  sanguinary, 
and  who,  in  those  violent  times,  was  conspicuous  for  correctiu"" 
the  sternness  of  his  official  duties  by  the  tenderness  of  his  owd 
amiable  nature.  His  expiring  sentiments  had  been  the  maxim  of 
his  life  :  "  Let  no  num  perish  but  by  the  just  sentence  of  the  law." 


234  LIFE   OF   CUKRAN. 


CHAPTER  X. 

Rebellion  of  179S— Its  causes— Unpopular  system  of  Government— Influence  of  the 
French  Revolution — Increased  intelligence  in  Ireland — Reform  Societies — United  Irish- 
men— Their  views  and  proceedings— Apply  for  aid  to  France — Anecdote  of  Theobald 
Wolfe  Tone — Numbers  of  the  United  Irishmen— Condition  of  the  peasantry  and  conduct 
of  the  aristocracy — Measures  of  the  Government— Public  alarm — General  insurrection. 

The  order  of  this  work  has  now  hrouo-lit  us  to  the  vear  1798 
— the  year  '98  ! — a  sound  that  is  still  so  full  of  terrible  associations 
to  every  Irishman's  imagination.  During  the  agitated  period 
which  followed  the  transactions  of  1*782,  Ireland  had  seen  the 
newly-acquired  spirit  of  her  people,  inflamed  by  disappointment, 
by  suflfering,  and  by  ignorance,  discharging  itself  in  bursts  of  indi- 
vidual or  local  turbulence,  which  were  not  much  felt  beyond  the 
[•articular  persons,  or  the  immediate  spot.  But  the  hour,  of  which 
tiiose  wei-e  the  prophetic  signs,  and  of  which  so  many  warning 
and  unheeded  voices  foretold  the  approach,  at  length  arrived, 
bringing  with  it  scenes  of  civil  sti'ife  that  struck  dismay  into 
every  fibre  of  the  .community,  sending  thousands  to  the  grave, 
thousands  into  exile,  and  involving  many  a  virtuous  and  respected 
family  in  calamity  and  shame. 

In  adverting  to  the  events  of  this  disastrous  era,  it  would  be  an 
easy  task  to  recapitulate  its  horrors,  or,  according  to  the  once 
popular  method,  to  rail  at  the  memory  of  its  victims ;  but  it  is 
time  for  invective  and  resentment  to  cease ;  or,  if  such  a  feeling 
will  irresistibly  intrude,  it  is  time  at  least  to  control  and  suppress 
it.  Fifty  years  have  now  passed  over  the  heads  or  the  graves 
of  the  parties  to  that  melancholy  conflict,  and  their  children  maj 
now  see  prospects  of  prosperity  opening  upon  their  country,  not 
perhaps  of  the  kind,  or  to  the  extent  to  which  in  her  more  ambi- 
tious days  slje  looked,  but  assuredly  a  more  rational  description 


CAUSES    OK    KEBELLIUN.  235 

than  could  have  been  attained  by  violence ;  and  such  as,  when 
realized,  as  they  promise  soon  to  be,  will  compensate  for  past 
reverses,  or  at  all  events  console.  At  such  a  moment,  in  approach- 
ing this  fatal  year,  we  may  dismiss  every  sentiment  of  personal 
Hspority,  or  posthumous  reproach ;  without  wishing  to  disturb  the 
remorse  of  those  upon  either  side  who  may  be  repenting,  or  to 
revive  the  anguish  of  the  many  that  have  suffered,  we  may  now 
contemplate  it  as  the  period  of  an  awful  historical  event;  and 
allude  to  the  mutual  passions  and  mistakes  of  those  who  acted  or 
peiished  in  it,  with  the  forbearance  that  should  not  be  refused  to 
the  unfortunate  and  die  dead. 

It  has  been  seen,  in  the  preceding  pages,  that  the  system  by 
which  Ireland  was  governed  had  excited  general  dissatisfaction, 
and  that,  in  the  year  1789,  several  of  the  most  able  and  distin- 
guished persons  in  the  Irish  Parliament  foiiued  themselves  into  a 
body,  for  the  avowed  design  of  opposing  the  measures  of  the 
Administration,  and  of  conferring  upon  their  country,  if  their 
exertions  could  enable  them,  all  tlie  practical  benefits  of  a  free 
constitution.  While  they  were  scarcely  yet  engaged  in  this  ardu- 
:>us  struggle,  the  French  Revolution  burst  upon  the  world — not, 
as  it  has  since  been  witnessed,  presenting  images  of  blood  and 
(disorder,  but  coming  as  the  messenger  of  harmony  and  freedom 
to  the  afflicted  nations.  This  character  of  peace  and  innocence 
it  did  not  long  retain,  or  was  not  allowed  to  retain  ;  but,  in  the 
jirogress  of  its  resistless  career,  its  crimes  seemed  for  a  while 
almost  justified  by  the  grandeur  of  their  results,  and  by  the  impos- 
ing principles  which  they  were  committed  to  establish.  It  soon 
appeared  how  popular  talent,  combined  with  popular  force,  could 
level  all  the  old  decrepit  opinions  against  which  they  had  confede- 
rated, and  Europe  was  fixed  with  mingled  wonder  and  dismay 
upon  the  awful  spectacle  of  a  self-emancipated  people  seated  upon 
the  throne,  from  which  they  had  hurled  the  descendant  of  their 
former  idols  as  an  hereditary  usurper. 

The  effects  of  this  gi-eat  event,  and  of  the  doctrines  by  which 


236  UFE   OF   CD  BRAN. 

it  was  defended,  were  immense.  Every  day  some  long-respected 
maxim  was  tried  and  condemned,  and  a  treatise  sent  fortli  to  jus- 
tify the  decision.  The  passions  were  excited  by  addressing  the 
reason — by  bold  and  naked  appeals  to  the  primitive  and  undeni- 
able principles  of  human  rights,  Avithout  allowing  for  the  number 
less  accidents  of  human  condition  by  which  those  rights  must 
inevitably  be  modified  and  restrained.  Philosophy  no  longer 
remained  to  meditate  in  the  shade  ;  she  was  now  to  be  seen  direct- 
ing the  movements  of  the  camp,  or  marching  at  the  head  of  tri- 
umphal processions,  or  presiding  at  civic  feasts  and  regenerating 
clubs.  In  all  this  there  was  absurdity ;  but  there  was  enthusiasm. 
The  enthusiasm  spread  with  contagious  fury.  Every  nation  of 
Europe,  every  petty  state  became  animated  by  a  new-born  \'igour 
and  unaccustomed  pretensions ;  and,  as  if  awaking  from  a  long 
slumber,  imagined  that  they  had  discovered  in  the  old  social  bonds 
the  shackles  that  enslaved  them.  "  The  democratic  principal  in 
Europe  was  getting  on  and  on  like  a  mist  at  the  heels  of  the  coun- 
tryman, small  at  first  and  lowly,  but  soon  ascending  to  the  hills, 
and  overcasting  the  hemisphere."*  This  principle  made  its  way 
to  England,  where  the  better  genius  of  the  constitution  prcNailed 
against  its  allurements  :  it  passed  on  to  Ireland,  where  it  was 
welcomed  with  open  arms  by  a  people  who  had  been  long  since 
ripe  for  every  desperate  experiment. 

During  the  twenty  years  which  preceded  the  French  Revolution, 
tho  progress  of  intelligence  in  Ireland  had  been  unprecedented ;  a 

♦  Mr.  Grattan's  Letter  to  the  Citizens  of  Dublin. 

The  readers  of  Milton  will  not  fail  to  recognise  this  image,  and  to  observe   the  use 
which  men  of  genius  can  make  of  their  predecessors. 

All  in  bright  army 
The  cherubim  descends  d — on  the  ground 
Gliding  meteorous,  as  evening  mist 
Risen  from  a  river  o'er  the  marish  glides, 
And  gathers  ground  fast  at  the  laborer's  heels 
Homeward  returning. 

Paradise  Lost.  Bpok  xii. 


KKYOLUTION.  237 

circumstance  whicli  is  to  be  in  part  attributed  to  the  general  dif- 
fusion of  knowledge  at  the  same  period  throughout  the  European 
community,  but  still  more  to  the  extraordinary  excitement  which 
her  own  domestic  struggle  had  given  to  the  Irish  mind.  In  Ire- 
land almost  the  whole  of  this  accession  of  intellect  was  expended 
upon  political  inquiries,  the  most  natural  subjects  of  investigation 
in  a  country  whose  actual  condition  was  so  far  below  her  most 
obvious  claims ;  and  this  peculiar  attention  to  local  politics  seems 
to  have  been  the  reason  that  her  contributions  to  general  science 
and  literature  have  not  been  commensurate  with  the  genius  and 
increased  acquirements  of  her  people.  It  has  already  been  shown 
how  much  of  this  new  energy  was  exerted  upon  the  Parliainen 
for  the  reformation  of  the  old  penal  system,  which  it  was  evidei: . 
the  nation  had  determined  no  longer  to  endure ;  but  the  Parlin- 
raent  was  inexorable ;  and,  by  thus  unnaturally  opposing,  instead 
of  conducting,  and  sometimes  indulging,  sometimes  controlling 
the  public  sentiment,  left  it  at  the  mercy  of  all  whose  resentment 
or  ambition  might  induce  them  to  take  advantage  of  its  exaspera- 
tion. 

Of  such  there  were  many  in  Ireland.  There  were  several  m^n 
of  speculati\''e  and  enterprising  minds,  who,  looking  upon  the 
obstinate  defence  of  abuses  at  home,  and  the  facility  with  w^iich 
they  had  been  banished  from  a  neighbouring  country,  became 
convinced  that  a  Revolution  would  now  be  as  attainable  as  a 
lleform,  and  that  there  was  a  fund  of  strength  and  indig-nalion  in 
the  Iiish  people,  which,  if  skilfully  directed,  woidd  vanquish  every 
obstacle.  There  is  no  intention  here  of  passing  any  unthinking 
])anegyric  upon  those  who  were  thus  meditating  a  conspiracy 
against  the  State — upon  the  merits  of  such  fatal  appeals  to  chance 
and  violence,  no  friend  to  law  and  humanity  can  hesitate  a  moment 
— but  it  is  due  to  historical  truth  to  state,  that,  in  the  present, 
instance,  they  were  not  a  band  of  factious  demagogues,  of  despe- 
rate minds  and  ruined  fortunes,  who  were  looking  to  a  Revolution 
as'  a  scene  of  confusion  and  depredation.     In  the  formation  of 


2S8  I'li'i-:  o!^'  curSan. 

sucli  a  confedei'acy  there  could,  indeed,  have  been  no  scrupulous 
selection  of  persons.  Several,  no  doubt,  entered  into  the  associa- 
tion from  private  motives;  some  from  ambition — some  from 
vanity — some  from  revenge ;  but  there  were  many  whose  mental 
attainments,  and  personal  virtues,  and  enthusiastic  fidelity  to  the 
cause  they  had  espoused,  extorted  the  admiration  and  sympathy 
of  those  who  were  the  least  disposed  to  justify  their  conduct,  oi 
deplore  their  fate. 

As  early  as  the  year  1791  the  future  leaders  of  the  projected 
designs  were  taking  measures  for  organizing  the  public  force,  by 
producing  a  general  union  of  sentiment  among  the  various  classes 
upon  whose  co-operation  they  were  to  depend.  x\s  yet  neither 
their  plans  nor  objects  were  distinct  and  defined ;  but  without  any 
formal  avowal  of  those  objects  to  each  other,  and  perhaps  without 
being  fully  apprized  themselves  of  their  own  final  determinations, 
they  took  as  elfectual  advantage  of  every  public  accident  as  if  the 
whole  had  been  previously  digested  and  resolved.  About  this 
period  several  of  the  friends  to  constitutional  monarchy,  among 
whom  appeared  some  of  the  most  respected  and  exalted  characters 
in  the  country,  united  in  forming  political  societies,*  for  the  purpose 
of  collecting  together  all  the  rational  supporters  of  freedom,  and, 
by  a^ording  a  legal  and  public  channel  of  expression  to  the  popu  • 
lar  sentiment,  of  preventing  the  adoptioir  of  secret  and  more  for- 
midable combinations.  Many  of  the  persons,  who  were  afterwards 
the  most  active  promoters  of  more  violent  proceedings,  became  mem 
hers  of  these  societies,  of  which  the  avowed  object  was  a  simple 

*  The  principal  of  these  was  the  Whig  Club,  which  was  formed  under  the  auspices  of 
the  late  Lord  Charlemont.  The  example  was  soon  followed  by  the  establishment  ol 
societies  of  United  Irishmen  at  Belfast  and  Dublin,  and  finally  in  every  part  of  the  i'ng- 
dom.  It  would  be  inconsistent  with  the  limits  of  this  work  to  trace  minutely  the  progress 
of  these  societies ;  but  it  should  be  observed,  that  several  who  were  'eading  members  }f 
the  United  Irishmen,  when  their  designs  had  become  revolutionary,  were  unconnected 
with  them  at  an  earlier  period.  It  is  also  necessary  to  remark,  that,  though  many  of 
those  who  took  aa  active  part  in  their  proceedings  at  every  period  of  their  existence 
would  originally  have  been  satisfied  with  a  reform,  there  were  exceptions.  See  tlie  fol- 
lowing note. — C. 


TJNrrj'jj  IRISHMEN.  289 

redress  of  grievances — and  with  this  there  are  reasons  to  beliexe 
that  the  future  leaders  of  the  conspiracy  would  in  the  first  instance 
have  been  satisfied  ;  but  soon  perceiving  the  improbability  of  such 
an  event,  while  they  continued,  as  nieuibers  of  the  original  and 
legal  associations,  ostensibly  to  limit  their  views  to  a  Constitutional 
Reform,  they  were  industriously  establishing  subordinate  clubs* 
throughout  the  country,  to  which,  in  order  to  alkire  adherents,  and 
to  evade  suspicion,  they  assigned  the  same  popular  denominations, 
and  tlie  same  tests;  but,  by  impressing  on  the  minds  of  all  who 
were  admitted  (and  all  of  every  class  were  admitted)  that  nu  hope 
of  constitutional  redress  remained,  they  speedily  formed  them 
into  a  widely  extended  confederacy,  under  the  name  of  the 
Irish  Union,  for  revolutionizing  Ireland,  and  establishing  a 
Republic. 

This  statement  refers  more  immediately  to  the  nort|i  of  Ireland, 
were  a  large  portion  of  the  inhabitants  were  Protestants  or  Dis- 
senters, who,  hanng  no  religious  disabilities  to  exasperate  them, 
and  being  to  a  considerable  degree  possessed  of  affluence  and  edu- 
cation, must  be  supposed  to  have  been  determined  to  republican 
principles  u^n  purely  speculative  grounds.  It  should,  however^ 
be    observed,   that    simidtaneously  vnth    their   proceedings,    and 

*  Entitled  "Societies  of  United  Iiislimen."  By  the  test  of  tlie  more  early  of  these 
societies,  the  members  pledged  themselves  "  to  persevere  in  endeavouring  to  form  a 
brotherliood  of  affection  among  h-ishmen  of  every  religious  persuasion,  and  tc  obtain  an 
equal,  full,  and  adequate  repruientation  of  all  the  people  of  Ireland  in  the  Commons 
Jloxise  of  Parli(i7ne)U."  In  the  year  1795  the  latter  words  were  struck  out,  ir  order  to 
accommodate  the  test  to  the  revolutionary  designs  that  began  to  be  generally  entertained. 
Report  of  the  Secret  Committee,  1798.  It  is  a  received  opinion,  that  the  celebrated 
Thobald  Wolfe  Tone  was  the  author  of  the  Constitution  of  the  later  United  Irishmen; 
but  the  writer  of  this  work  is  informed  that  he  himself  denk'd  this  to  be  the  fact.  "  He 
assured  me  (adds  my  authority)  that  Captain  Thomas  Kussell,  to  whom  he  was  for  many 
years  so  w.irmly  attached,  was  the  person  who  dnw  up  that  remarkable  paper,  and  that 
he  (Tone)  was  not  a  member  of  the  clo.ie  society  of  United  Irishmen  till  the  eve  of  his 
embarking  at  Belfast  for  America,  in  the  summer  of  1795."  It  is,  however,  certain 
that  Mr.  Tone,  as  far  back  as  1791,  strongly  recommended  to  the  societies  of  United 
Irishmen,  then  in  their  infancy,  to  attempt  a  Revolution,  as  appears  from  his  letter 
written  in  that  year  to  the  society  at  Belfast. — Report  of  the  Secret  Committee. 
—{Appendix.) — C. 


240  LIFE   OF   CUERAN. 

Anthout  any  connexion  or  coainiiinication  witli  them,  a  most  for- 
midable league  existed  among  the  poorer  Catholics  of  several 
districts.  These  latter,  assuming  the  name  of  Defenders,*  had 
originally  associated  to  repel  the  local  outrages  of  their  Protestant 
neighbours.  The  frequency  and  the  length  of  the  Conflicts  in 
which  they  were  involved,  had  for-ced  them  into  a  kind  of  bai'bar- 
rous  discipline  and  coherence ;  and  having  now  become  confident 
from  their  numbers,  and  from  their  familiarity  with  success  or  with 
danger,  they  began  to  despise  the  laws,  of  which  they  had  vainly 
invoked  the  protection,  and  to  entertain  a  vague  idea  that  their 
strength  might  be  successfully  employed  for  the  improvement  of 
their  condition.  While  their  minds  were  in  this  state  of  confused 
excitation,  emissaries  were  despatched  from  the  united  societies  to 
explain  to  them  their  wrongs,  and  to  2iropose  the  remedy.  The 
Defenders  were  easily  persuaded  by  the  eloquence  of  doctrines, 
which  only  more  skilfully  expressed  their  previous  sentiments ; 
and,  laying  aside  their  religious  resentments  and  distinctive  aj^pella- 
tion,  adopted  the  more  general  views  and  title  of  United  Irish- 
men. 

Before  the  year  lYQB,  societies  of  United  Irishmen  jDrevailed  in 
every  quarter  of  the  kingdom.  The  great  majority  consisted  of 
the  lowest  classes,  of  whom  all  that  had  the  inducements  of  degra- 
dation, or  of  personal  animosities,  readily  enlisted  under  a  stan- 
dard that  was  to  lead  them  to  freedom  and  revenge.  In  order  to 
secure  an  uniformity  of  action,  and  habits  of  subordination,  a  regu- 
lar and  connected  system  (comprising  committees,  baronial,  county, 
and  provincial ;  and,  finally,  an  executive)  was  established,  and 
periodical  returns  of  members  admitted,  arms  procured,  money 
contributed,  and  of  every  other  proceeding,  w'cre  made  with  all 
the  forms  and  order  of  civil  state. 


*  The  Defenders  first  appeared  about  the  year  17S5:  they  increased  rapidly,  and 
soon  attained  a  considerable  degree  of  organization.  From  their  oath  and  rules, 
which  are  couched  in  the  rudest  language,  it  sufficiently  appears  that  the  Associutioij 
must  hare  been  composed  of  the  lowest  order  in  the  community. — C. 


PEEPAEATI0N8  FOK  REVOLT.  241 

Their  numbers  had  soon  become  so  great,  that  nothing  but  dis- 
ciplme  seemed  wanting  to  the  accomplishment  of  their  objects ; 
.•mJ  when  we  consider  tlie  description  of  men  of  whom  the  mass 
w.is  composed,  we  cannot  contemplate  without  surprise  the  spirit 
of  ardour  and  secrecy  that  they  displayed,  and  the  enthusiastic 
p;itience  with  which  they  submitted  to  the  irksomeness  of  delay, 
ami  to  the  labours  and  dangers  by  which  alone  any  degi-ee  of  dis- 
cipline could  be  acquired.  In  the  neighbourhood  of  the  capital 
and  the  principal  towns,  where  large  bodies  could  not  have  assem- 
bled without  discovery,  they  separated  into  very  small  parties, 
each  of  which  appointed  the  most  skilful  to  direct  its  manoeuvres. 
Till}  most  active  search  was  made  for  persons  who  had  ever  been 
in  the  military  profession,  to  whom  every  motive  of  reward,  and 
rank,  and  expected  glory,  were  held  out,  and  generally  with  suc- 
cess, to  allure  them  into  the  association.  Under  these  they  met, 
night  after  night,  to  be  instructed  in  the  use  of  arms ;  sometimes 
in  obscure  cellars,  hired  for  the  purpose ;  sometimes  in  houses, 
whei'e  every  inhabitant  was  in  the  secret;  it  even  sometimes 
happened  that  in  the  metropolis  these  nocturnal  exercises  took 
place  in  the  habitations  of  the  more  opulent  and  ardent  of  the 
conspirators.  In  the  interior  their  evolutions  were  performed  upon 
a  more  extensive  scale.  There,  every  evening  that  the  moon,  the 
signal  of  rendezvous,  was  to  be  seen  in  the  heavens,  the  peasant, 
^\  iihout  reposing  from  the  toils  of  the  day,  stole  forth  with  his  rude 
implement  of  war,  to  pass  the  night  upon  the  nearest  unfrequented 
heath,  with  the  thousands  of  their  comrades,  who  were  assembled 
at  that  place  and  hour,  as  for  the  celebration  of  some  unrighteous 
mysteries.  It  was  also  a  frequent  custom  at  this  time,  among 
the  lower  orders,  to  collect  in  large  bodies,  under  the  pretext 
indulging  in  some  of  the  national  games  of  force ;  but  for  the 
secret  purpose  of  inspiring  mutual  confidence,  by  the  display  of 
their  numbers,  and  their  athletic  forms,  and  of  exercising  in  those 
mimic  contests  the  alertness  and  vigour  which  they  were  so  soon 
to  employ  in  the  real  conflict.     The  general  enthusiasm  was  kept 

11 


242  LiF15   OF   CtJRRAN. 

alive  hy  tlie  distribution  of  songs  in  praise  of  freedom,  arranged 
to  popular  native  airs.  Green,  the  old  distinguisliing  colour  of 
the  island,  and  in  itself,  from  its  connexion  with  the  face  and 
restorative  energies  of  nature,  an  excitant  to  the  imaginations  of 
men,  Avho  conceived  themselves  engaged  in  a  struggle  for  the 
recovery  of  their  natural  rights,  was  adopted  as  their  emblem. 
Their  passions  for  spirituous  liquors,  a  propensity  that  seems  in 
some  degree  peculiar  to  those  with  whom  it  is  the  only  luxury,  and 
to  those  who  have  exhausted  every  other,  was  restrained,  by  explain 
ing  to  them  the  embarrassment  in  which  the  sudden  non-con 
sumption  of  such  a  source  of  revenue  would  involve  the  Govern- 
ment. And  so  intense  was  the  ardour  for  the  general  cause,  that 
this  inveterate  indulgence  was  sacrificed  to  such  a  motive,  and  the 
populace  became  for  a  while  distinguished  by  habits  of  unaccus- 
tomed,  and  it  might  be  said,  impassioned  sobriety.* 

The  leaders  of  the  United  Irishmen  began  now  (1796)  to  look 
with  confidence  to  the  success  of  their  designs;  but  foreseeing 
that  notwithstanding  their  strength  and  enthusiasm,  the  contest 
v/ith  the  regular  forces  of  the  Government  might  be  sanguinary 
and  protracted,  they  were  anxious  to  call  in  the  aid  of  a  disciplined 
army,  which,  by  directing  the  movements  and  restraining  the 
excesses  of  the  insurgents,  might  enable  them  to  decide  the  strug- 
gle at  a  hlovf.  For  such  a  reinforcement  they  turned  their  eyes 
towards  France.  The  docimients  produced  upon  Jackson's  trial 
had  lately  given  them  public  intimation,  that  that  country  was 
disposed  to  assist  the  Irish  malcontents.  The  latter  wore  aware 
that  France  could  have  no  interest  in  promoting  a  cons>.itutional 
reform  in  Ireland,  of  which  the  obvious  effect  would  have  been  an 
accession  of  strength  to  the  British  empire :  they  therefore  applied 
for  a  military  aid  to  effect  a  separation  from  England.f      This 

*  Of  the  preceding  facts,  some  are  taken  from  the  report  of  the  secret  commUtee 
and  others  are  given  upon  the  autlioiity  of  individual  information. — C. 

t  The  United  Irishmen  despatched  an  agent  to  France  for  this  purpose,  about  .he  mid- 
dle of  17&6     Mr.  Tone  was  then  at  Paris,  and  exerted  all  his  influence  to  the  same  effect. 


TRANCE    ANB   THE   REBELS.  243 

would  evidently  be  an  important  object  with  the  Frencli  Govern- 
ment ;  and  it  was  the  necessity  of  holding  out  such  an  inducement 
that  in  some  degree  determined  the  Irish  directoiy  to  the  final 
and  extreme  measure  of  a  Revolution.  The  French  authorities 
accepted  the  pro2)osal,  and  immediately  prepared  for  the  embar- 
kation of  an  ai-niy,  to  co-operate  with  the  Irish  insurgents.  But 
the  main  dependence  of  the  leaders  of  the  conspiracy  was  upon 
the  Irish  populace ;  an  agricultural  population,  full  of  \igour, 
burning  for  the  conflict,  and  long  inured  to  habits  of  insurrcctiuii. 
Of  these,  500,000  were  in  arms. 

If  it  should  here  be  asked  by  any  of  the  many  subjects  of  the 
same  empire,  who  still  continue  strangers  to  the  former  condition 
of  Ireland,  how  so  long  and  formidable  a  system  of  secret  organiza- 
tion could  have  been  carried  by  her  people  for  the  violent  design 
of  revolutionizing  her  country?   the  answer  is  not  difficult,     it 

In  the  first  memorial  wliich  Mr.  Tone  presented  to  the  French  directory  in  order  to  in- 
duce them  to  send  an  e.\i)c<litiun  to  Ireland,  lie  stated  that  at  that  period  more  th.in  two- 
thirds  of  the  sailors  in  the  British  Navy  were  Irish  ;  that  he  was  present  when  the 
Catholic  delegates  urged  this  to  Lord  Melville  as  one  reason  for  granting  emancipation, 
and  that  hia  lordship  had  not  denied  the  fact.  This  statement  was  understood  to  have 
had  great  weight  with  the  directory,  wlio  immediately  committed  the  whole  of  the  subject 
to  the  consideration  of  Carnot  (then  one  of  the  directory)  and  Generals  Claik  and 
Hoche.  The  gentleman  who  has  communicated  the  preceding  circumstances  has  added 
the  following  ane<;dote  :  Soon  after  an  expedition  to  Ireland  had  been  left  to  the  decision 
of  Carnot,  Clark,  and  Hoche,  they  named  an  evening  to  meet  Tone  at  the  palace  of  Lux- 
embourg. Tone  arrived  at  tlic  appointed  hour,  eight  o'clock.  He  was  ushered  inti  x 
splendid  apaitment.  Shortly  after  the  director  and  the  generals  made  their  appearance  : 
they  bowed  coldly,  but  civilly,  to  Tone,  and  almost  immediately  retired,  without  apology 
or  explanation,  through  a  door  opposite  to  that  by  which  they  had  entered.  Tone  was 
a  good  deal  struck  by  so  unexpected  a  reception  ;  but  his  surprise  increased,  when  ten 
o'clock  arrived,  without  the  appearance  of,  or  message  of  any  kind  from  those  on  whom 
all  his  hopes  seemed  to  depend.  The  clock  struck  eleven,  twelve,  one — all  was  still  in  the 
palace;  the  steps  of  the  sentinels,  on  their  posts  without,  alone  interrupted  the  dead 
silence  that  prevailed  within.  Tone  paced  the  room  in  considerable  anxiety;  not  even 
a  servant  had  entered  of  whom  to  inquire  his  way  out,  or  if  the  director  and  the  generals 
had  retired.  About  two  o'clock  the  folding  doors  were  suddenly  thrown  open  ;  Carnot, 
Clarke,  and  Hoche  entered  ;  their  countenances  brightened,  and  the  coldness  and  reserve 
80  observable  at  eight  o'clock,  had  vanished.  Clarke  advanced  quickly  to  Tone,  and 
taking  him  cordially  by  the  hand,  said,  "  Citizen  !  /congratulate  you:  tee  goto  Ire- 
land." — The  others  did  the  same ;  and  having  fixed  the  time  to  meet  again,  the  persons 
engaged  in  this  remarkable  transaction  separated. — C. 


244:  LIFE   OP   CURKAK. 

sprang  from  their  degradation,  and  from  the  ignorance  and 
revenge  that  accompanied  it.  The  Rebolliou  of  1798  was  a  ser- 
vile war.  In  Ireland  her  millions  of  peasantry  were  a  mere  collec- 
tion of  physical  beings,  to  whom  nature  had  amply  dispensed  every 
human  passion,  but  whom  society  had  imparted  no  motives  to 
restrain  them.  The  informing  mind  of  a  free  constitution  had 
never  reached  them ;  they  never  felt  the  tranquillizing  conscious- 
ness that  they  were  objects  of  respect.  In  Ireland  the  State  was 
not  the  "  great  central  heart,"  that  distributed  life  and  health,  and 
secured  them  in  return.  The  old  Irish  government  was  a  mechani- 
cal, not  a  moral  system ;  it  was,  what  it  has  been  so  often  likened 
to,  a  citadel  in"  an  enemy's  country ;  its  first  and  its  last  expedient 
was  force ;  it  forgot  that  those  whom  no  force  can  subdue,  nor 
dangers  terrify,  will  kneel  before  an  act  of  conciliation.  But  it 
obstinately  refused  to  conciliate,  and  the  people  at  length,  prepared 
by  the  sufferings  and  indignities  of  centuries,  listened  with  sanguine 
or  desperate  credulity  to  the  counsel  which  reminded  them  of  their 
strength,  and  directed  them  to  employ  it  in  one  furious  effort, 
which,  whether  it  failed  or  prospered,  could  not  embitter  their 
condition. 

The  spirit  of  the  Government  found  a  ready  and  fatal  co-opera- 
tion in  the  gentry  of  the  land.  Never  was  there  a  class  of  men 
less  amenable  to  the  lessons  of  experience ;  adversity,  the  great 
instructor  of  the  wise,  brought  to  them  all  its  affilictioas  without 
their  antidote.  Every  fierce,  inveterate  resentment  of  the  race 
lineally  descended,  with  the  title-deeds,  from  the  father  to  the 
child.  Year  after  year  the  landlord's  house  was  fired,  his  stock 
was  plundered,  his  rent  unpaid,  his  land  a  waste,  and  each  succeed- 
ing year  he  was  seen  efiecting  his  escaj^e,  through  scences  of  tur- 
bulence and  danger,  from  his  estate  to  the  capital,  to  make  Lis 
periodical  complaint  of  his  sufferings,  and  to  give  the  minister 
another  vote  for  their  continuance. 

The  Irish  landlord  of  the  last  century  was  the  great  inciter  to 
insurrection.     With  a  nominal  superiority  of  rank  and  education. 


LAJSIDLOKD   AND   PEASANT.  245 

he  was  in  every  ferocious  propensity  upon  a  level  with  the 
degraded  dependants,  whom  he  atFected  to  contemn,  and  whose 
passions  he  vainly  laboured  to  control ;  because  he  had  never  set 
them  the  example  by  controlling  his  own.  Finding  his  ettbrts 
abortive,  he  r.ext  vindictively  debased  them ;  and  the  consequence 
was,  that  in  a  little  time  he  shared  the  same  fate  with  his  victims. 
The  condition  of  Ireland  during  the  eighteenth  century  afibixls  a 
striking  and  melancholy  example  of  the  certain  retribution  with 
which  a  system  of  misrule  will  visit  those  who  so  mistake  their 
own  interests  as  to  give  it  their  support.  An  inconsiderable  oixler, 
or  a  single  sect,  may  (however  unjustly)  be  degraded  with  impu- 
nity ;  but  the  degradation  of  the  mass  of  a  nation  will  inevitably 
recoil  upon  its  opj^rcssors.  The  consequences  may  not  always  be 
visible  in  formidable  acts  of  force ;  but  there  is  a  silent  and  unerr- 
ing retaliation  in  the  effects  upon  morals  and  manners,  by  which 
the  tyrant  is  made  eventually  to  atone  for  his  crimes.  In  every 
condition  of  society  the  predominating  sentiments  and  manners 
will  spread  and  assimilate.  In  highly  polished  states  they  may  be 
observed  descending  from  the  higher  to  the  inferior  ranks.  The 
courtesy  and  humanity  of  the  old  French  peer  were  found  to  give 
a  tinge  to  the  conversation  of  the  mechanic.  In  uncivilized 
countries  the  progress  is  the  reverse  ;  the  rudeness  of  the  boor 
will  ascend  and  taint  his  master.  The  latter  was  the  case  in 
Ireland ;  the  Irish  peasant,  in  his  intercourse  with  his  superiors, 
saw  nothing  of  which  the  imitation  could  soften  and  improve  hiih. 
'J'he  gentry,  although  conscious  that  their  religion,  and  the  violent 
means  by  which  so  many  of  them  had  acquired  their  properties, 
excited  the  suspicion  and  aversion  of  those  below  them,  resorted 
to  every  infallible  method  of  confirming  these  hostile  impressions. 
Instead  of  endeavouring  to  eradicate  them  by  mildness  and  pro- 
tection, they  insulted  and  oppressed.  The  dependant,  unrestrained 
by  any  motive  of  afi'ection  or  respect,  avenged  himself  by  acts  of 
petty  outrage.  The  outrage  was  resented  and  punished  a^  an 
original  unprovoked  aggression.    Fresh  revenge  ensued,  and  henco 


246  LIFE    OF    CUKKAN. 

every  district  presented  sceues  of  turbulent  contention,  iu  which 
the  liaughty  lord  lost  whatever  dignity  he  had  possessed,  and 
finally  became  infected  with  the  barbarous  passions  and  manners 
of  the  vassals  whom  he  had  disdained  to  civilize,  till  he  required 
as  much  to  be  civilized  himself. 

The  attachment  of  the  Irish  peasant  to  the  government  was 
suspected ;  but  nothing  could  have  been  more  unskilful  than  the 
means  adopted  to  secure  his  fidelity.  The  Irish  aristocracy,,  who 
imagined  that  because  they  were  loyal,  they  might  proceed  to 
every  violent  extreme,  were  a  band  of  political  fanatics,  and  would 
have  made  proselytes  by  the  sword.  They  knew  nothing  of  the 
real  nature  of  the  allegiance  which  they  were  so  zealous  to  estab- 
lish, and  which  was  never  yet  established  by  the  sword.  They 
were  not  aware  that  the  allegiance  of  a  nation  to  the  state  is  a 
feeling  compounded  of  a  thousand  others,  half  interest,  half  senti- 
ment, of  gratitude,  of  hope,  of  recollections,  of  the  numberless 
minute  and  "  tender  influences,"  that  reconcile  the  subject  to  his 
condition  ;  that  it  is  seldom  a  direct  and  defined  attachment  to  the 
sovereign,  but  a  collection  of  many  subordinate  attachments,  of 
which  the  sovereign  has  all  the  benefit ;  that  it  is  but  the  youngest 
of  the  group  of  private  virtues,  and,  like  them,  must  be  reared  in 
the  bosom  of  domestic  comfort ;  that  it  is  upon  the  moi  al  alle- 
giance of  each  rank  to  its  immediate  relations,  cf  the  servant  to 
his  master,  of  the  artisan  to  his  employer,  of  the  tenant  to  his 
landlord,  that  must  be  founded  the  political  allegiance  of  the 
whole  to  the  State. 

Those  mistaken  loyalists  supposed  that  they  were  teaching 
allegiance  by  a  haughty  and  vindictive  enforcement  of  the  laws 
against  its  violation.  They  did  not  see  that  they  were  exacting 
from  the  laws  what  no  laws  could  perform ;  that  their  positive 
provisions  must  be  always  impotent,  where  their  spirit  is  not  pre- 
viously infused  into  the  subject  by  manners  and  institutions.  In 
Ireland  these  two  were  at  perpetual  variance.  The  Irish  lawgiver 
passed  his  statute,  setting  foi-th,  ir  pompous  phraseology,  its  wis- 


INTOLEKANCE.  247 

dom  and  necessity,  and  denouncing  the  gibbet  against  the  offender, 
and  tlien  returned  to  his  district,  to  defeat  its  efficacy,  by  giving  a 
practical  continuance  to  the  misery,  the  passions,  the  galling  epi- 
thets, and  the  long  train  of  customary  insults  and  loi-al  provocations 
that  were  for  ever  instigating  to  crime.  He  did  what  was  stranger 
and  more  absurd  than  this — he  had  the  folly  to  put  the  State  in 
competition  with  a  power  above  it.  He  trampled  upon  the  reli- 
gion of  the  people* — not  reflecting  that,  though  by  the  doctrines 
of  Christianity  all  injuries  are  to  be  forgiven,  it  had  been  the  uni- 
versal pi'actice  of  its  various  sects,  for  successive  centuries,  to 
except  the  offences  committed  against  themselves.  He  pointed  to 
the  peasant's  chapel,  and  gloried  in  the  reflection,  that  the  disloyal 
bell  which  had  called  their  fathers  to  worship  should  never  sound 
tipon  the  ears  of  their  children — as  if  to  approach  his  Maker  with 
a  little  show  of  decent  pomp  was  not  the  harndess  i)ride  of  every 
man  of  every  faith  upon  the  surface  of  the  globe.  He  thought  he 
could  drive  (hem  along  the  path  of  allegiance,  whtu-e  he  had 
placed  their  religion  to  stop  the  way ;  and  was  surprised  that, 
when  the  alternative  was  to  be  made,  they  should  turn  upon  their 
driver  rather  than  advance  in  the  face  of  what  they  dreaded  more 
than  death. 

The  mass  of  the  Ii-ish  people  were  tillers  of  the  soil,  and  were 
thus  systematically  debai'i'ed, by  those  who  should  have  been  their 
patrons  and  instructors,  from  every  motive  to  be  ti'anquil.  Tlie 
countiy  gentleman,  the  great  bulwark  (if  he  performs  his  duties) 
against  extended  projects  of  revolution,  hated  them  and  feared 
them.  He  received  tliem  with  sullen  reserve  when  they  brought 
him  his  rent,  and  trembled  at  the  vigorous  hands  that  paid  it ;  but 
there  was  no  moral  intercourse  between  them,  no  interchange  of 


•  Tlie  fii'st  attacks  upou  the  Irish  Cutliolics  originiited  iti  the  English  parliameat;  but 
khe  Irish  aristocracy  gave  flio  penal  code  tlieir  fullest  support.  Had  the  latter  performed 
their  duly,  and  undeceived  England  upon  the  supposed  necessity  of  continuing  it,  the  fate 
of  Ireland  would  have  been  very  diOerent;  but  upon  this  sulked  RnKland  waa  abased, 
and  Is  to  this  ho  ir  abused.-  C. 


248  LIFE    OF    CUKKAJSf. 

sympathy  and  endearing  offices.  The  landlords,  in  constant  alarm 
for  their  property  and  safety,  would  not  convert  the  depredator 
into  a  protector.  They  op2)Osed  the  tenant's  education,  which 
would  have  taught  him  to  employ  his  idle  hours  in  acquiring  a 
love  of  order,  instead  of  passing  them  in  plans  to  recover  in 
plunder  what  he  had  paid  in  rent,  and  looked  upon  as  tribute. 
Erecting  the  nselves  into  the  little  deities  of  their  own  district, 
they  would  i.ot  let  the  tenant  touch  of  knowledge,  lest  he  should 
"  become  as  one  of  them."  They  drew  between  themselves  and 
their  natural  allies  a  proud  line  of  separation,  which  effectually  cut 
ofl"  all  communications  of  reciprocal  affection,  but  proved  a  barrier 
of  air  against  irruptions  of  hatred  and  of  force.  In  Ireland  there 
were  none  of  those  feudal  privileges  which  bring  the  persons  and 
feelings  of  the  Scottish  dependants  into  closer  contact  with  those 
of  their  superiors.  The  Irish  peasant  was  never  seen  in  the  hall 
of  his  lord.  He  was  left  in  his  hovel  to  brood  over  his  degrada- 
tion— to  solace  or  inflame  his  fancy  with  legendary  traditions  of 
his  country's  ancient  glory,  and  with  rude  predictions  of  her  com- 
ing regeneration,  and  to  hail,  in  every  factious  spirit,  the  Messiah 
that  was  to  redeem  her. 

These  were  the  real  causes  of  the  avidity  -with  which  the  Irish 
populace  entered  into  this  formidable  conspiracy.  The  government 
w^as  early  apprised  of  its  existence  though  not  of  its  extent,  and 
took  very  vigoixnis  but  ineffectual  means  to  suppress  it.  Session 
after  session  it  resorted  to  measures  of  terror  or  precaution,  by 
penal  acts  and  prosecutions,  to  try  their  efficacy  ;  but,  of  the  per- 
sons thus  proceeded  against,  the  acquittal  of  many  only  served  to 
bring  discredit  upon  the  Administration,  while  the  executions  of 
such  as  were  convicted  were  regarded  by  their  party  as  so  many 
acts  of  hostile  severity,  that  called,  not  for  submission,  but  revenge. 
The  Ministers  of  the  Crown  conducted  themselves,  at  this  trying 
crisis,  with  a  zeal  which  could  not  be  too  much  applauded,  if  it 
were  not  so  often  carried  to  excess,  and  with  the  most  undoubted 
fide  ;ty  to  the  powers  whom  they  served  ;  but  throughout  they  com- 


MINISTEKIAL   FOLLY.  219 

mitted  one  fatal  erroi-,  which  must  for  ever  detract  from  their 
characters  as  able  statesmen.  Because  it  was  evident  that  a  few 
educated  men  were  at  the  head  of  the  popular  combinations,  they 
adojited,  and  to  the  last  persisted  in  the  opinion,  or  at  least  in  the 
assertion,  that  the  whole  was  essentially  a  conspiracy  of  a  few 
speculative  adventurers,  who  had  seduced  the  nation  from  its  alle- 
o-iance,  and  that  all  the  power  and  wisdom  of  the  State  was  to  bo 
confined  to  the  counteraction  of  the  malignant  design ;  and  to  this 
notion,  notwithstanding  its  daily  refutation,  they  adhered,  with  the 
spirit  rather  of  persons  engaged  in  an  acrimonious  controversy, 
than  of  ministers  whose  duty  it  was  to  save  the  country  from  the 
horrors  of  a  civil  war.*  It  was  to  no  purpose  that  the  sophistry 
by  which  they  defended  it  was  exposed — it  was  in  vain  that  they 
were  told,  by  men  who  knew  the  state  of  Ireland  and  the  general 
course  of  the  human  passions  as  well  as  they  did,  that  their  rea- 
sonings w  ould  never  satisfy  the  disaflected — that  the  dissatisfaction 
was  not  temporary  oi  acoidental,  but  radical — and  that  it  was  only 
a  waste  of  time  and  of  life  to  resort  to  unpopular  laws  and  freqxicnt 
executions,  while  the  parent  mischief  remained  untouched  upon 
the  statute  book.  The  Irish  Ministry  not  only  spurned  those  coun- 
sels, which  the  event  proved  to  have  been  prophetic,  bet,  superadding 
a  farther  error,  they  reviled  the  advisers  with  so  little  discretion, 
that  they  gave  the  real  conspirators  officifil  authority  fur  believing 
that  the  opposers  of  the  Administration  were  secretly  the  advo- 
cates of  rebellion,  and  thus  afforded  them  an  additi-mal  incitement 
3  persevere  in  their  designs.f 

*  Kven  alter  the  suppresiioa  of  the  Rebellion,  v.iieu  the  (Jovernmenl  possessed  the 
'uUest  information  reg:.rdi!!g  its  Origin  and  protjress,  the  Viceroy,  in  his  speecli  to  the 
Parliiiment,  wiis  nuide  to  say,  "  the  foulest  and  darkest  conspiracy  was  fcirnifd  and  long 
carried  on  by  the  implacable  enemy  of  Uiis  realm,  for  Uie  tttal  extinction  of  Uie  Constitu- 
tion, etc."— Lord  LieuienanVs  Speech,  Octoher  6, 1798. 

t  A  Itading  member  of  the  minority  in  the  Irish  House  of  Commons  was  the  late  Mr. 
George  Ponsonby,  a  gentleman,  who,  if  tlio  purest  consiittitlonal  views  and  personal  dig- 
nity of  dei>ortment  conid  have  «avpd  from  insults,  would  have  escaped  them  ;  but  at  this 
period  no  dignity  was  a  proteelion.  He,  among  others,  impressed  upon  the  Ministry  that 
Ireland  could  be  preserved  from  Die  tlirealened  crisis  by  no  means  but  by  a  complew 


250  LIFE    OF   CTJKRAN. 

This  glaring  departure  from  ihv.  most  obvious  prudence  has  been 
vai'iously  accounted  for.  By  manj  it  has  been  attributed  to  inca-~^ 
pacity.  A  more  general  opinion  was,  that  the  (rovernment  was 
fomenting  the  conspirac.'y,  in  order  that  the  excesses  to  which  it 
would  lead  might  reconcile  the  nation  to  a  Legislative  Union  :  and, 
however  vulga  ■  and  improbable  the  latter  supposition  may  appear, 
it  is  still  perhaps  the  only  one  that  can  satisfactorily  explain  the 
apparent  inconsistencies  and  infatuation  of  their  councils. 

The  enemy  of  Great  Bi-itain  had  already  made  an  abortive  effort* 


reform  of  the  Parliameut,  by  Catholic  emancipation,  and  by  an  equalization  of  commerce 
between  England  and  Ireland.  The  following  was  the  answer  of  one  of  the  serA'ants  of 
the  Crown  (the  solicitor-general)  to  Mr.  Ponsonby's  opinions  :  "  What  was  it  come  to,  that 
In  the  Irish  House  of  Commons  they  should  listen  to  one  of  their  own  members  degi-ading 
the  character  of  an  Irish  gentleman  by  language  which  was  fitted  but  for  hallooing  a  mob? 
Had  he  heard  a  man  uttering  out  of  those  doors  such  language  as  that  by  which  the  hon- 
ourable gentleman  had  violated  the  decorum  of  Parliament,  he  would  have  seized  the 
rufCan  by  the  thi'oat,  and  dragged  him  to  the  dust  1  What  were  the  house  made  of  who 
could  listen  in  patience  to  such  abominable  sentiments? — sentiments  which,  thank  God, 
were  acknowledged  by  no  class  of  men  in  this  country,  except  the  execrable  and  infamous 
nest  of  traitors,  who  were  kuown  by  the  name  of  United  Irishmen,  who  sat  brooding  in 
Btlf;ist  over  their  discontents  and  treasons,  and  from  whose  publications  he  could  trace, 
word  for  word,  every  expression  the  honourable  gentleman  had  used." — J)'is?i  Purl.  Deb. 
Feb.  1797. 

George  Ponsonby,  one  of  the  "  Old  Whigs,"  was  a  man  of  mediocre  capacity,  owing  his 
position  mainly  to  the  circumstance  of  his  aristocratic  connexions.  His  father  had  bcon 
Speaker  of  the  Irish  House  of  Comnmna.  His  cousin  was  Earl  of  Bessborough  ;  his  father- 
in-law  was  the  Earl  of  Lansborough.  Born  in  1755,  he  was  called  to  the  bar  in  liBO,  and 
Bpeedily  was  made  King's  Counsel,  and  Counsel  to  the  Revenue  Commissioners.  <.Jii:ir- 
relling  with  "  the  Castle,"  he  was  turned  out  ofolBce,  and  became  patriotic  : 

"  Here  and  there  some  stern,  high  patriot  stood, 
Who  could  not  get  the  place  for  which  he  cried." 

In  the  Irish  Parliament  he  was  one  of  the  Opposition  leaders,  and  was  made  Lord  Chan- 
cellor of  Ireland  in  1806.  On  tlie  break  up  of  the  Fox  ministry  he  lost  his  odice,  but  was 
solaced  with  a  pension  of  £4000,  which  he  duly  drew,  year  after  year,  until  his  death  in 
Jidy  1817.  For  some  years  after  leaving  Ireland,  lie  was  a  Parliamentary  leader  of  the 
Opposition  in  England. — M. 

♦  In  December  179C  the  French  Kleet  was  dispersed  by  a  storm.  A  part  of  it  anchored 
in  Bantry  Bay,  where  it  remained  for  some  days;  but  the  vessel,  on  board  of  which  Gen. 
Hoche  (the  commander  of  the  expedition)  was,  not  arriving,  the  French  admiral,  without 
att"mpting  a  landing,  returned  to  France.  It  is  well  known  tiiat  grievous  complaints  were 
mftde  in  the  Knglish  Parliament  against  the  Ministry,  for  having  left  the  coast  of  Ireland 


THE   CROPPIES.  251 

to  transport  ai  armament  to  Ireland,  the  landing  of  which  was  to 
have  been  thv  sio-ual  for  the  intended  risiii"- ;  but  the  leaders  i)f  the 
Irish  Union,  still  depending  upon  the  promised  renewal  of  the 
attempt,  had  been  anxious  to  restrain  the  impatience  of  the  people 
until  the  foreign  succours  should  arrive.  Disappointed,  however, 
in  their  expectations  from  abroad,  and  apprehending  from  any  fur- 
ther delay,  either  the  uncontrollable  impetuosity  or  the  desertion 
ol'  their  followers,  they  resolved,  in  the  early  part  of  this  year, 
against  their  better  judgment,  to  bring  the  matter  to  a  final  issue. 
The  23d  of  May  was  fixed  as  the  day  for  a  general  insurrection 


60  unprotected  on  this  occasion.  In  explanation  of  this  apparent  negligence,  Theobold 
Wolf  Tnne,  who  had  been  confidentially  employed  in  the  preparations  for  the  French 
expedition  (he  was  himself  on  board  one  of  the  vessels  that  anchored  in  Bantry  Bay) 
related  the  following  circumstances,  as  having  come  within  his  personal  knowledge. 
While  this  formidable  armament,  which  had  so  long  fixed  the  attention  of  Europe,  was 
fitting  out  at  Brest,  various  conjectures  prevailed  as  to  its  probable  destination.  The 
general  opinion  was  that  the  invasion  of  eitlier  Ireland  or  Portiijral  was  intented. — There 
was  at  this  time  (according  to  Mr.  Tone's  account)  a  secret  agent  of  the  British  ministry 
at  Brest,  who,  having  discovered  that  a  particular  printer  of  (hat  town  had  General 
Hoche's  proclamations  in  his  press,  privately  offered  him  a  large  sum  for  a  single  copy. 
With  this  offer  the  printer  made  Genera!  Hoche  acquainted,  who  immediately  drew  up  a 
proclamation,  as  addressed  to  the  Portuguese  by  the  commander  of  Ihe  French  invading 
army.  A  few  copies  of  this  were  accordingly,  by  the  General's  desire,  struck  off,  and 
handed  by  the  printer  to  the  agent.  The  latter  forwarded  them  to  Mr.  Pitt,  whom  the 
rece'pt  of  such  a  document  is  said  to  have  so  completely  deceived,  that  he  directed  the 
British  squadrons  to  make  Portugal  the  peculiar  object  of  their  vigilance,  and,  in  the  first 
instance,  treated  the  report  of  an  actual  descent  upon  Ireland  with  derision.  Although 
Ihe  appearance  of  the  French  Fleet  in  Bantry  Bay  produced  no  movements  of  disaffection 
in  the  vicinity,  it  was  yet  at  this  period,  or  very  shortly  after,  that  the  organization  '•{ 
the  United  Irishmen  was  most  complete,  and  their  prc'spect  of  success  most  promising. 
In  1797  they  felt  assured,  that,  in  the  event  of  a  general  insurrection,  the  greater  number 
of  the  Irish  militia  regiments  would  have  revolted.  It  is  confidently  asserted,  that  an 
attacJj  upon  Dublin  having  been  proposed  in  that  year,  every  soldier  who  mounted  guard 
in  that  city  on  the  night  of  the  intended  attempt  was  in  their  interests.  The  following 
occurrence,  however  ludicrous,  is  a  striking  proof  of  the  i)reyaillng  sentiment  among  the 
native  forces.  At  this  time  persons  of  democratic  principles.  In  imitation  of  the  French 
revolutionists,  wore  their  hair  short  behind  ;  from  which  custom  Croppies  and  Ri-buls 
became  synonymous  terms.  A  commander  of  yeomanry  in  Dublin,  while  reviewing  his 
corps,  observed  a  false  tall  lying  upon  the  parade.  He  held  It  up,  and  asked  who  h;id 
droi>ped  it.  By  an  instantaneous  movement,  every  man  of  the  corps  raised  his  hand  to 
the  back  of  his  head.  This  corps  is  said  to  hare  been,  in  consequence,  disbanded  on  iJie 
fo;  owing  day. — C, 


252  LIFE    OF   CUliKAN. 

Of  this  iutention  the  ffoveruinent  havino-  received  information 
in  the  course  of  the  preceding  March,  arrested  several  of  the 
principal  leaders  in  the  capital-;  and,  announcing  by  proclamation 
the  existence  of  the  conspiracy,  authorised  the  military  powers  to 
employ  the  most  summary  methods  of  suppressing  it. 

This  foi-mal  declaration  of  the  impending  crisis  was  followed  by 
the  most  extreme  agitation  of  the  public  mind.  Every  ear  was 
catching,  every  tongue  was  faltering  some  tremendous  confirma- 
tion that  the  hour  was  at  hand.  As  it  approached,  the  fearful 
totens  became  too  manifest  to  be  mistaken.  In  the  interior,  the 
peasantry  were  already  in  motion.  Night  after  night  large  masses 
of  them  were  known  to  be  proceeding  by  unfi-equented  paths  to 
some  central  points.  Over  whole  tracts  of  country  the  cabins 
were  deserted,  or  contained  only  women  and  children,  from  whom 
the  inquirers  could  extort  no  tidings  of  tlie  owners.  In  the  towns, 
to  which,  in  the  intervals  of  labour,  the  lower  classes  delighted  to 
flock,  a  frio-htful  dimunition  of  numbei-s  was  observed ;  while  the 
few  that  appeared  there,  betrayed,  by  the  moody  exultation  of 
their  looks,  that  they  were  not  ignoi'ant  of  the  cause.  Tliroughout 
the  capital,  against  which  the  first  fury  of  the  insurgents  was  to 
be  directed,  and  where,  from  its  extent,  there  could  never  be  a 
certainty  that  the  attack  had  not  already  begun,  the  consternation 
was  universal.  The  spectacle  of  awful  preparation,  that  promised 
security,  ga\-e  no  tranquillity.  In  the  panic  of  the  moment  the 
measures  for  security  became  so  many  images  of  danger.  The 
military  array  and  bustle  in  some  streets — the  silence  and  desertion 
of  others — the  names  of  the  inhabitants  registered  on  every 
door — the  suspension  of  public  amusements,  and  almost  of  private 
intercourse — the  daily  proclamations — prayers  put  up  in  the 
churches  for  the  general  safety — families  flying  to  England — part- 
ings that  might  be  eternal — every  thing  oppressed  the  imagination 
with  the  conviction,  that  a  great  public  convulsion  was  at  hand. 
The  Parliament"^-  and  the  courts  of  justice,  with  a  laudable  attach- 

=f  On  tUe  22d  of  May  (tlie  day  before  the  insui-reclion)  the  House  of  Commons  voted  ai» 


MARTIAL   LAW.  253 

meut  to  the  forms  of  the  constitution,  continued  their  sittings; 
but  the  strange  aspect  of  senators  and  advocates  transacting  civil 
business  in  the  garb  of  soldiers,  reminded  the  spectator  that  the 
final  dependance  of  the  state  was  upon  a  power  beyond  the  laws. 
In  Dublin  the  domestics  of  the  principal  citizens  had  disappeared, 
and  gone  oft'  to  join  the  insurgents  ;  while  those,  who  could  not  be 
seduced  to  accompany  them,  became  the  more  suspected,  from 
this  pi'oof  of  their  fidelity:  they  could  have  remained,  it  was 
apprehended,  for  the  sole  purpose  of  being  spies  upon  their  mas- 
ters, and  co-operators  in  their  intended  destruction ;  and  thus,  to 
the  real  dangers  of  a  general  design  against  the  government,  were 
added  all  the  imaginary  horrors  of  a  project  of  individual  ven- 
geance. The  vigorous  precautions  of  the  Administration,  instead 
of  inspiring  confidence,  kept  alive  the  public  teri'or  and  suspense. 
In  every  quarter  of  the  kingdom  the  populace  were  sent  in  droves 
to  the  pi'isons,  till  the  prisons  could  contain  no  more.  The  vessels 
in  the  several  bays  adjoining  the  scenes  of  disturbance  were  next 
converted  into  gaols.  The  law  was  put  aside  :  a  non-commissioned 
officer  became  the  arbiter  of  life  and  death.  The  military  were 
dispersed  through  every  house :  military  visits  were  paid  to  every 
house  in  search  of  arms,  or  other  evidence  of  treason.  The  dead 
were  intercepted  on  their  passage  to  the  grave,  and  their  coffins 
examined,  lest  they  might  contain  rebellious  weapons.  Many  of 
the  consjjirators  were  informally  executed.  Many  persons  who 
were  innocent  were  arrested  and  abused.  Many  who  might  have 
been  innocent,  were  suspected,  and  summarily  put  to  death. 

Upon  the  appointed  day  the  explosion  took  place.  The  shock 
was  dreadful.  The  imaofination  recoils  from  a  detail  of  the  scenes 
that  followed.  Every  excess  that  could  have  been  apprehended 
from  a  soldiery,  whom  (xeneral  Abercrombie,  in  the  lano-uao'e  of 


address  to  the  Viceroy,  expressing-  their  fidelity  and  their  reliance  upon  the  rigilance  and 
vigour  of  his  government.  In  order  to  render  the  proceeding  more  imposing,  all  tho 
members  of  Oiat  house,  with  the  Speaker  at  their  head,  wallicd  through  the  streets,  two 
and  two,  and  presented  the  address  to  his  Excellency. — 0. 


254  LIFE   OV  CURB  AN. 

manlj  reproof  had  declared  to  be  in  a  state  of  licentiousness  that 
rendered  it  formidable  to  all  but  the  enemy;  every  act  of  furious 
retaliation  to  be  expected  from  a  peasantry  inflamed  by  revenge 
and  despair,  and,  in  consequence  of  the  loss  of  their  leaders, 
surrendered  tc  the  auspices  of  their  own  impetuous  passions,  dis- 
tinguished and  disgraced  this  fatal  conflict  *  After  a  short  and 
sanguinary  struggle,  the  insurgents  were  crushed.  The  numbers 
of  them  who  perished  in  the  field,  or  on  the  scaftold,  or  were 
exiled,  are  said  to  have  amounted  to  50,000 ; — the  losses  upon  the 
side  of  the  crown  have  been  computed  at  20,000  lives ; — a  solemn 
and  memorable  fact : — 70,000  subjects  sacrificed  in  a  single  year, 
whose  energies,  had  other  maxims  of  government  prevailed,  might 
have  been  devoted  to  what  it  is  equaLy  the  interest  of  subjects 
and  governments  to  promote — the  cause  of  rational  freedom,  the 
possession  of  which  can  alone  inspire  a  manly  and  enlightened 
attachment  to  the  laws  and  the  state. 

♦  The  high  state  of  passion  and  resentment  which  prevailed  at  this  unfortunate  period 
may  be  collected  from  the  single  fact  ttiat  in  the  House  of  Connnons  a  member  suggested 
that  military  executions  should  liave  a  retrospective  operation,  and  that  the^state  pri- 
soners, wlio  had  been  for  several  weeks  in  the  hands  of  government,  should  be  summarily 
disposed  of;  but  the  secretary,  Lord  Oastlereagh;  with  becoiring  dignity  and  humanity, 
vehemently  discountenanced  so  shocking  a  proposal.— C.  [There  is  something  ludicrous 
In  any  one's  gravely  speaking  of  the  "  humanity"  of  Castlereagh  !— M,l 


TfiIAI>   Oh    THE   SHEARESEB.  S^RS 


CHAPTER  XL 

Tr'  il  of  Henry  and  John  Sheares. 

As  soon  as  tlie  public  safety  was  secured  (it.  was  long  before  tran- 
quillity was  restored)  by  the  defeat  of  tJie  insurgents,  a  general 
amnesty  was  granted  to  all,  except  the  actual  leaders  of  the  con- 
spiracy, who  should  surrender  their  arms,  and  take  the  oath  of 
allegiance  to  the  King.  Several  of  the  leaders  were  in  the  hands 
of  the  Government,  and  it  was  now  decided  that  the  most  conspi- 
cuous of  them  should  be  brought  to  immediate  trial,  in  order  that 
their  fates  should  give  a  final  blow  to  any  still  remaining  hopes  of 
their  adherents. 

The  first  of  the  persons  thus  selected  were  tA\o  young  gentle- 
men, brothers,  and  members  of  the  Irish  bar,  'Ilenry  and  John 
Sheares.*  Their  previous  history  eoniains  uotlving  peculiar.  Tliey 
were  both  of  respectal'le  ami  amiable  characters.  The-  elder  of 
them  "had  given  many  hostages  to  fortune;"  but  witli  the  ardour 
incidental  to  their  years,  and  to  the  times,  they  had  bc-L-n  iniluced 
to  look  beyond  those  sources  of  private  happiness  whieh  they 
appear  to  have  abundantly  enjoyed,  and  to  engage  in  the  political 
speculations  that  were  now  to  be  expiated  with  their  lives.  When 
the  original  members  of  the  Irish  executive  were  committed  to 
prison,  in  tlie  month  of  March,  the  Sheareses  were  among  tliose 
vdio  were  chosen  to  supply  their  place,  and  they  took  a  very 
active  part  in  an-anging  the  plan  of  the  approaching  insurrection. 

♦  The  Sheareses  were  arrested  on  the  21st  of  May,  1798,  two  days  before  the  risiriR  of  the 
people.  They  were  two  Cork  gentlemen,  "baiv'sters  by  profession,"  says  Davis,  "both 
men  of  liberal  education,  but  of  very  unequal  characters.  Ilenry,  the  eldest,  was  mild, 
changeful,  weak:  John  was  fiery  and  firm,  and  of  much  greater  abilities."— M. 


253  LTFE   OF   OtJRUAN. 

Of  all  tliese  proceedings  the  Government  obtained  accurate  iufof- 
mation  through  a  Captain  Armstrong,  an  officer  of  the  Irish 
militia,  who  had  succeeded  in  insinuating  himself  into  tlieir  con- 
fidence, for  the  purpose  of  discovery.*  They  were  accordingly 
arrested  two  days  previous  to  the  explosion,  and  were  now  sum- 
moned to  abide  their  trial  for  high  treason. 

Mr.  Curran's  defence  of  these  unfortunate  brothers  v,-as  sup- 
pressed at  the  period,  and  is  generally  supposed  to  liave  alto- 
gether perished.  A  report  of  the  trial  has,  however,  been  pre- 
served, from  which  an  account  of  the  share  that  he  bore  in  it 
shall  now  be  given.f 

The  prisoners  were  brought  to  the  bar,  and  arraigned,  on  the 
4th  of  July,  1*798.1;  In  this  stage  of  the  proceedings,  a  very  inte- 
resting and  important  discussion  took  place.  Their  counsel  hav- 
ing discovered  that  one  of  the  grand  jury,  who  had  found  the 
bill   of  indictment,  was  a  naturahzed  Frenchman,!  pleaded  that 


*  Of  Captain  Armstrong,  Davis  says,  "  This  friglitful  wretch  had  souglit  the  acquaint- 
ance of  the  Sheareses — made  it— encouraged  their  prospects — assisted  them  with  military 
hints — professed  tender  love  for  them — mixed  with  their  family,  and  used  to  dandle  Henry 
Sheares's  cliildren.  *  *  *  He  shared  their  hospitality — urged  o'l  their  schemes— came 
to  condole  with  them  in  prison— and  then  assassinated  them  with  his  oath."  John  Wanie- 
ford  Armstrong  was  Captain  in  the  King's  County  Militia.  Ue  made  the  acquaintance 
of  the  Sheareses  to  get  them  int  •  his  clutches,  and  dined  with  John  the  day  before  the 
arrest.  He  had  actually  known  them  only  ten  days  before  that.  Barrington  says  that 
Henry  Sheares  "was  a  participator  in  the  treason,  and  aided  in  procuring  emissaries  to 
seduce  the  troops  at  Loughlinston.  Thev?  Capta'n  Armstrong  became  acquainted  with  the 
iwo  brothers — y>Iedged  to  them  his  friendship — persuaded  them  he  would  seduce  his  regi- 
ment— gained  their  implicit  confidence — faithfully  fulSlled  the  counter-plot — (4evised 
several  secret  meetings— and  worked  up  sufficient  guilt  to  sacrifice  the  lives  of  both."— M. 

t  The  father  of  the  Sheareses,  a  Banker  in  Cork,  had  been  a  member  of  the  Irish  Par- 
liament, and  in  that  capacity  had  succeeded  in  carrying  an  act  (5th  George  HI.)  by 
which  was  conceded  to  prisoners  the  right  to  have  counsel  assigned  them  by  the  Court  and 
to  have  a  copy  of  the  indictment.  Under  this  statute,  Mr.  Curran  and  Mr.  McNally  were 
assigned  as  counsel  to  John  Sheares,  and  Mr.  Plunket  for  Henry  Sheares. — M. 

i  The  trial  took  place  before  Lord  Carleton,  Barons  Smith  and  George,  and  Justicu 
Daly.— M. 

§  It  was  McNally  who  filed  the  pica  that  John  Decluzeau,  one  of  the  jurors  who  foiind 
the  bills,  for  High  Treason,  against  the  Sheareses  and  for  others,  was  an  alien,  not  naturali- 
sed. The  Crown  lawyers  argued  against  this  plea,  and  then,  in  reply,  Curran  .spoke  in 
its  support. — M. 


TKIAL    OF   THIO   SHEARSESES.  2(^1 

fact  against  its  legality.      The  following  are  parts  of  Mr.  Curraivs 
argument  tipon  tlie  occasion  :  * 

"  My  lords  ;  the  law  of  this  country  has  declared,  that  in  order 
to  the  conviction  of  any  man,  not  only  of  any  charge  of  the 
higher  sjjecies  of  criminal  otfences,  but  of  any  criminal  charge 
whatsoever,  lie  must  be  convicted  upon  the  finding  of  two  juries ; 
first,  of  the  grand  jury,  who  determine  upon  the  guilt  in  one  point 
"•f  view;  and,  secondly,  I)y  the  corroborative  finding  of  the  petty 
jury,  who  establish  that  guilt  in  a  more  direct  manner;  and  it  is 
the  law  of  this  country,  that  the  jui'ors,  who  shall  so  find,  whether 
upon  the  grand  or  upon  the  petty  inquest,  shall  he  jJrobi  et  legales 
homines  omni  cxce^itione  majores.  They  must  be  open  to  no  legal 
objection  of  pei's-^nal  incompetence ;  they  must  be  capable  of 
liaving  freehold  property,  and  in  order  {a  have  freehold  property, 
they  must  not  be  open  to  the  objccti(.)n  of  being  born  under  the 
jui'isdiction  of  a  foreign  prince,  or  owing  allegiance  to  any  foreign 
power.  Because  the  law  of  this  country,  and  indeed  the  law  of 
eveiy  country  in  Europe,  has  thought  it  an  indispensable  pi-ecau- 
tion,  to  trust  no  man  ^^  Ith  the  weight  or  influence  which  territo- 
rial possession  may  give  him  contraiy  to  that  allegiance  which 
ought  to  flow  fi'om  such  possession  of  property  in  the  country. 
This  observation  is  emphatically  forcible  in  every  branch  of  the 
criminal  law;  but  in  the  law  of  treason,  it  has  a  degree  of  force 
and  cogency  that  fiiils  in  every  inferior  class  of  offence ;  because 
the  very  point  to  be  inquii'ed  into  in  treason  is  the  nature  of  alle- 
giance. The  general  natui-e  of  allegiance  may  be  pretty  clear  to 
every  man.  Every  man,  however  unlearned  he  may  be,  can  easily 
ac(juire  such  a  notion  of  allegiance,  whether  natural  and  boi-n 
with  him,  or  whether  it  be  temporary  and  contracted  by  emigra- 
tion into  another  country ;  he  may  acquire  a  vague,  untechnical 

*  Different  statutes  of  Charles  II.  Geo.  I.  and  Geo.  III.  enact,  tliat  naturalized  aliens, 
perfiirming  certain  specified  conditions,  "shall  be  deemed  liege,  free,  and  natural  sub- 
jects, to  a)l  intents  and  purposes;"  with  a  proviso  '=  that  they  shall  not  be  enabled  te 
serve  in  Parliament,  nor  to  be  of  his  majesty's  privy  council,  nor  to  hold  any  office  of 
trust,  oivil  or  military,  in  the  kin^'ilora. — C. 


258  LIFE   OF   CUKKAN. 

idea  of  allegiance,  idv  his  immediate  personal  conduct.  But  1  am 
warranted  in  saying  that  the  constitution  does  not  suppose  that 
any  foreigner  has  any  direct  idea  of  allegiance  but  what  he  owes 
to  liis  original  princ«.  The  constitution  supposes,  and  takes  for 
graute<l,  that  no  foreigner  has  such  an  idea  of  our  peculiar  and 
precise  allegiance,  as  qualifies  him  to  act  as  a  juroi-,  where  that  is 
the  question,  to  he  inquired  into  ;  and  I  found  myself  upon  this 
known  principle,  that  though  the  benignity  of  the  English  law 
has,  in  many  cases,  where  strangers  are  tried,  given  a  jury,  half 
composed  of  foreigners  and  half  natives,  that  benefit  is  denied  to 
any  man  accused  of  treason,  for  the  reason  I  have  stated ;  because, 
says  Sir  W.  Blackstone,  'aliens  are  very  improj>er  judges  of  the 
breach  of  allegiance.'*  A  foreigner  is  a  most  improper  judge 
of  what  the  allegiance  is  which  binds  an  English  subject  to  his 
constitution.  And,  therefore,  upon  that  idea  of  utter  incompe- 
tency in  a  strange)',  is  eveiy  foreigner  directly  removed  and  rejielled 
from  exercising  a  function  that  he  is  sujiposed  utterly  unable  to 
discharge.  If  one  Frenchman  shall  be  sufl'ered  to  find  a  bill  of 
indictment  between  our  Lord  the  King  and  his  subjects,  by  a 
parity  of  reasoning  may  twenty-three  men  of  the  same  descent  be 
put  into  the  box,  with  authority  to  find  a  bill  of  indictment.  By 
the  same  reason,  that  the  court  may  communicate  with  one  man 
whose  language  they  do  not  know,  may  they  comnmnicate  with 
twenty-three  natives  of  twenty-three  different  countries  and  lan- 
guages. How  far  do  I  mean  to  carry  this  ?  Thus  far  :  that  every 
statute,  or  means  by  which  allegiance  may  be  shaken  of!"  and  any 
kind  of  benefit  or  privilege  confei-red  upon  an  emigrating  foreigner, 
is  for  ever  to  be  considered  by  a  court  of  justice  with  relation  to 
tliat  natural  incompetency  to  perform  certain  trusts,  which  is 
taken  for  granted  and  established  by  the  law  of  England. 

"Therefore,  my  lord,  my  clients  have  pleaded,  that  the  bill  of 
indictment  to  which  they  have  been  called  upon  to  answer  has 

*  4  Bl.  Com.  853.— 0. 


EIGHTS    OF    AT.IKNS.  259 

been  found,  among  others,  by  a  foreigner,  born  under  a  foreign 
allegiance  and  incapable  of  exercising  the  right  of  a  juror,  upon 
the  grand  cr  the  petty  inquest.  The  stat.  of  Charles  IT.  recites 
that  the  kingdom  was  wasted  by  the  unfortunate  troubles  of  tliat 
time,  and  that  trade  had  decreased  for  want  of  merchants.  After 
thus  staling  generally  the  grievances  which  had  afflicted  the  trade 
and  population  of  the  country,  and  the  necessity  of  encouraging 
emigi-ation  from  abroad,  it  goes  on  and  says,  that  strangers  may 
be  induced  to  transport  themselves  and  families  to  replenish  the 
country,  if  they  may  be  made  partakers  of  the  advantages  and 
free  exercise  of  their  trades  without  interruption  and  distui'bance. 
The  giievance  was  the  scarcity  of  men;  the  remedy  was  the  encour- 
agement of  foreigners  to  transport  themselves,  and  the  encourage- 
ment given  was  such  a  degi-ce  of  protection  as  was  necessary  to 
the  full  exercise  of  their  trades  in  the  dealino:,  buvina:  and  sellinff 
and  enjoying  the  full  extent  of  personal  secui-ity.  Therefore  it 
enacts,  that  all  foreigners  of  the  protestant  religion,  and  all  mer- 
cliants,  &c.  who  shall,  within  the  term  of  seven  years,  transport 
themselves  to  this  countiy  shall  be  deemed  and  reputed  natural- 
born  subjects,  and  '  may  implead  ani4  be  impleaded,'  and  'prose- 
cute and  defend  suits.'  The  intention  was  to  give  them  protection 
for  the  jiurposes  for  which  they  were  encouraged  to  come  here ; 
and  therefore  the  statute,  instead  of  saying,  genei-ally,  'tliey  sliall 
be  subjects  to  all  intents  and  purposes,'  specifically  enumerates  the 
privileges  they  shall  enjoy.  If  the  legislature  intended  to  make 
them  'subjects  to  all  intents  and  purposes,'  it  liad  nothiug  more 
to  do  tlian  say  so.*  But  not  haviug  meant  any  such  thing,  the 
statute  is  confined  to  the  enumeration  of  the  mere  hospital>le 
rifflits  and  i^rivileces  to  be  granted  to  such  foreio-nei-s  as  come  here 
for  special  purposes.  It  states,  '  lie  may  implead,  and  he  sliall  be 
answered  unto  ;'  that  '  he  may  prosecute  and  defend  suits.'  Why 
go  on  and  tell  a  man,  who  is  to  all  intents  and  purposes  a  natural- 

*  The  statute  does  say  this  generally,  in  the  first  instance;  but  the  subsequent  enu« 
meration  of  particular  privileges  supports- the  view  that  Mr.  Oiirran  took  of  It. — 0. 


260  1.IFE   OF    JURRA^N. 

born  subject,  tbat  be  may  implead  and  bring  actions  ?  I  say,  it 
is  to  all  intents  and  purposes  absurd  and  preposterous.  If  all 
privileges  be  granted  in  tbe  fii'st  instance,  why  mention  particular 
parts  afterwards  ?  A  man  would  be  esteemed  absurd,  who  by  bis 
grant  gave  a  thing  under  a  general  dcsci'iption,  and  afterwards 
granted  the  particular  parts.  What  would  be  thought  of  a  man, 
who  gave  another  his  horse,  and  then  said  to  the  grantee,  'I  also 
give  you  liberty  to  ride  him  when  and  where  you  please  V  What 
was  the  case  here?  The  government  of  Ireland  said,  '  we  want 
men  of  skill  and  industry;  we  invite  you  to  come  over;  our  inten- 
tion is,  that  if  you  be  protestants,  you  shall  be  protected  ;  but  you 
are  not  to  be  judges,  or  legislators,  or  kings ;  we  make  an  act  of 
parliament,  giving  you  protection  and  encouragement  to  follow 
the  trades,  for  your  knowledge  in  which  we  in\ite  you.  You  are 
to  exercise  your  trade  as  a  natural-born  subject.  IIow  ?  '  With 
full  power  to  make  a  bargain  and  enforce  it.  We  invest  you  with 
the  same  2">ower,  and  you  shall  have  the  same  benefit,  as  if  you 
w'ere  appealing  to  your  own  natural  forum  of  public  justice.  You 
shall  be  here  as  a  Frenchman  in  Paris,  buying  and  selling  the 
commodities  appertaining  to  your  trade.' 

'•  Look  at  another  clause  in  the  act  of  Parliament,  which  is  said 
to  make  a  legislator  of  this  man,  or  a  juror,  to  pass  upon  the 
life  or  death  of  a  fellow-subject-r-uo,  not  a  fellow-subject,  but  a 
stranger.  It  says,  '  you  may  purchase  an  estate,  and  you  may 
enjoy  it,  without  being  a  trustee  for  the  crown.'  Why  was  that 
necessary,  if  he  were  a  subject  to  all  intents  and  purposes  ?  But, 
my  lords,  a  great  question  remains  behind  to  be  decided  upon.  I 
know  of  no  case  upon  it.  I  do  not  pretend  to  say  that  the  indus- 
tiy  of  other  men  may  not  have  discovered  a  case.  But  I  would 
not  be  surjirised  if  no  sucli  case  could  be  found — if,  since  the  his- 
toiy  of  the  administration  of  justice,  in  all  its  forms,  in  England, 
a  stranger  had  not  been  found  intruding  himself  into  its  con- 
cerns— if,  through  the  entire  history  of  our  courts  of  justice,  an 
instance  was  not  to  be  found  of  the  folly  of  a  stranger  interfering 


AN   ALIEN    GKAND   JUKOK.  261 

Upon  so  awful  a  subject  as  the  breach  of  allegiance  between  a 
subject  and  his  king.  My  lords,  I  beg  leave  upon  this  part  to  say 
that  it  would  be  a  liiost  formidable  thing,  that  a  court  of  justice 
would  pronounce  a  determination  big  with  danger,  if  they  should 
say  that  an  alien  may  find  a  bill  of  indictment  involving  the 
doctrine  of  allegiance.  It  is  permitting  him  to  intermeddle  in  a 
business  of  which  he  cannot  be  supposed  to  have  any  knowledge. 
Shall  a  subject  of  the  Irish  Crown  be  charged  with  a  breach  ol 
his  allegiance  upon  the  saying  of  a  German,  an  Italian,  a  French- 
man, or  a  Spaniard  ?  Can  any  man  suppose  any  thing  more 
monstrous  or  absurd,  than  that  of  a  stranger  being  competent  to 
form  an  opinion  upon  the  subject?  I  would  not  form  a  supposi- 
tion upon  it.  At  a  time  when  the  generals,  the  admirals,  and  the 
captains  of  France,  are  endeavouring  to  pour  their  armies  upon 
as,  shall  we  permit  their  petty  detachments  to  attack  us  in  jutlicial 
hostility?  Shall  we  sit  inactive,  and  see  their  skirmishes  take  off 
our  fellow-subjects  ]>y  explosions  in  a  jury-ioom? 

"When  did  this  man  come  into  this  country?  Is  the  r%*'t  up'-n 
which  he  tloatetl  now  in  court?  What  has  he  said  upon  the-  Imlc 
of  the  bill  ?  What  understanding  had  he  of  it?  If  he  can  wnio 
more  than  his  own  name,  and  had  written  'ignoramus'  upon  the 
back  of  tho  indictment,  he  might  have  written  truly;  he  might 
say  he  knew  nothing  of  the  matter.  lie  says  he  is  naturalized. 
'I  am  glad  of  it;  you  are  welcome  to  Ireland,  sir;  you  shall  have 
all  the  privileges  of  a  stranger,  independent  of  the  invitation  by 
which  you  came.  If  you  sell,  you  shall  recover  the  price  of  your 
wares ;  you  shall  enforce  the  contract.  If  you  purchase  an  estate, 
3  ou  sliall  transmit  it  to  your  children,  if  you  have  any  ;  if  not,  \  our 
densee  shall  have  it.  But  you  must  know,  that  in  this  constitu- 
tion tliere  are  laws  binding  upon  the  court  as  strongly  as  upon 
you.  The  statute  itself,  which  confers  the  privileges  you  enjoy, 
makes  you  incapable  of  discharging  offices.  Why?  Because 
they  go  to  the  fundamentals  of  the  constitution,  and  belong  only 
to  those  men  who  have  an  interest  in  that  constitution  transmitted 


26'2  LIFE   OF    CUKRAN. 

to  them  from  their  ancestors.'  Therefore,  my  lords,  the  foreiinjei 
must  be  content;  he  shall  be  kept  apart  from  the  judicial  fuuc-. 
tions; — in  the  extensive  words  of  the  act  of  parlianieul,  he  snal! 
be  kept  from  '  all  places  of  trust  whatsoever.'  If  the  a-t  had  been 
silent  in  that  part,  the  court  Avould,  notwithstanding,  be  bound  to 
say  that  it  did  not  confer  the  power  of  tilling  the  high  departments 
of  the  state.  The  alien  would  still  be  incapable  of  sitting  in  eilli.-.r 
house  of  parliament — he  would  be  incapable  of  advising  with  tbo 
kino-,  or  holding  any  place  of  constitutional  trust  whatever. 
What  ?  shall  it  be  said  there  is  no  trust  in  the  offi^'e  of  a  grand 
juror?  I  do  not  speak  or  think  lightly  of  the  sacred  office  con- 
fided to  your  lordships,  of  administering  justice  between  th^^  crown 
and  subject,  or  between  subject  and  subject ; — I  do  not  compare 
the  office  of  grand  juror  to  that ; — but,  in  the  name  of  Uod,  with 
regard  to  the  issues  of  life  and  death — with  regai-d  to  the  conse- 
quences of  imputed  or  established  criminality — what  ditference  is, 
there  in  the  constitutional  importance  between  the  jui'or  who 
brings  in  a  vo-.tic!,,  and  the  judge  who  pronounces  upon  that  ver- 
di  .t  tlie  sentence  uf  the  law?  Shall  it  be  said  that  the  former  is 
no  phvce  of  trust?  What  is  the  place  of  trust  meant  by  the 
ttatute  ?  It  is  not  merel^^'  giving  a  thing  to  another,  or  depositing 
it  for  safe  custody;  it  means  constitutional  trust,  the  trust  of  exe 
cuting  given  departments,  in  which  the  higliest  confidence  must 
be  reposed  in  the  jnan  appointed  to  perform  them.  It  means  not 
the  trust  of  keeping  a  p;dtry  chattel — it  means  the  awful  trust  of 
keeping  the  secrets  of  the  state  and  of  the  king.  Look  at  the 
weight  of  the  obligation  imposed  upon  the  juror — look  at  the 
enormous  extent  of  the  danger,  if  he  ^i(»Iate  or  disregard  il.  At 
a  time  like  the  present,  a  time  oi  war — what,  is  the  rust  to  be 
confided  to  the  conscience  of  a  Frenchman  ?  But  T  am  speaking 
for  the  lives  of  my  clients ;  and  I  do  not  choose  even  here  lo  state 
the  terms  of  the  trust,  lest  I  might  furnish  as  many  hints  of  mis 
chief  as  I  am  anxious  to  furnish  arguments  of  defence.  But  shal. 
a  Frenchman  at  this  moment  be  entrusted  with  those  secrets  upoE 


AKGUMENTb   AGAINST  ALIENS.  2ii'u 

wiiicli  your  sitting  on  tlie  bencii  may  eventually  depend  ?  What 
is  ilic  inquiry  to  be  made  ^  Having  been  a  pedlar  in  the  country, 
is  lie  to  have  the  selling  of  the  countiy,  if  he  be  inclined  to  do  so? 
Is  he  to  have  confided  to  him  the  secrets  of  the  state  ?  He  mai/ 
remember  to  have  had  a  first  allegiance,  and  that  he  was  sworn  to 
it.  He  might  tind  civilians  to  aid  his  })erfidious  logic,  and  to  tell 
him  that  a  secret,  communicated  to  him  by  the  humanity  of  the 
country  which  received  him,  might  be  disclosed  to  the  older  and 
better  natured  allegiance  sworn  to  a  former  power !  He  might 
give  up  tlie  perfidious  use  of  his  conscience  to  the  integrity  of  the 
ohler  title.  Shall  the  power  of  calling  upon  an  Irislimun  to  take 
his  li'ial  before  an  Irish  judge,  before  the  country,  be  left  to  tJie 
broken  speech,  the  linr/ua  franca  of  a  stranger,  coming  among 
you,  and  saying,  'I  was  naturalized  by  ac(  nf  parliament,  and  I 
cannot  carry  on  mv  trade  without  dealino-  in  the  blood  of  your 
citizens?'  He  holds  up  your  statute  as  his  protection,  and  tiiiigs 
it  against  your  liberty,  claiming  the  right  of  exercising  a  judicial 
function,  and  feeling,  at  the  same  time,  the  honest  love  for  an 
older  title  to  alleii'iance.  Tt  is  a  love  which  every  man  oui>'ht  to 
feel,  and  which  every  subject  of  this  country  would  feel,  if  he  left 
his  country  to-morrow,  and  were  to  spend  his  last  hour  among  the 
Hottentots  of  Africa.  I  d<>  trust  in  (lod  there  is  not  a  man  that 
hears  me,  Avho  does  not  feel  that  he  would  carry  with  him,  to  the 
remotest  part  of  the  globe,  the  old  ties  which  bound  him  to  his 
original  friends,  his  eountiy,  and  his  king.  I  do,  as  the  advocate 
of  my  clients,  of  my  country — as  the  advocate  for  you,  my  lords, 
whose  elevation  pi'events  you  from  the  possibility  of  being  advo- 
cates for  yourselves — for  your  children  I  do  stand  up  ;  and  rely 
upon  it,  thai  this  act  of  parliaii'.ent  lias  been  confir.ed  to  a  limited 
operation;  it  was  enacted  for  a  limited  purpose,  and  will  not  allow 
this  meddling  stranger  to  pass  upon  the  life,  fame,  or  fortune  of 
the  gentlemen  at  the  bar — of  me,  their  advocate — of  you,  their 
judges — or  of  any  man  in  the  nation.  It  is  an  intrusion  not  to 
be  borne." 


204:  LIFE   OF   CUKKAN. 

Mr.  Plunket  followed  Mr.  Curraii  on  the  same  side ;  Lut,  after  a 
long  discussion,  it  was  ruled  by  the  court,  that  the  office  of  grand 
juror  was  not  one  of  the  offices  of  trust  alluded  to  by  the  legis- 
lature, and,  consequently,  tliat  the  person  objected  to  was  competent 
to  fill  it.  The  prisoners  were,  therefore,  in  the  language  of  the 
law,  "  awarded  to  answer  over."  Their  trial  was,  upon  their  own 
application,  in  consequence  of  the  absence  of  witnesses,  postponed 
till  the.  12th  of  July,  when  it  came  on  for  final  decision  before 
Lord  Carleton,  Mr.  Justice  Crookshank,  and  Mr.  Baron  Smith.* 

Mr.  Curran's  speech  upon  this  occasion,!  which  was  considered 
as  the  most  moving  that  he  had  ever  pronounced,  was  rendered 
peculiarly  affecting,  by  the  circumstances  that  accompanied  its 
deliveiy.  Notwithstanding  the  length  of  many  of  the  state  trials 
of  this  period,  the  courts  seldom  adjourned  till  the  proceedings 
were  concluded,  so  that  their  sittings  Avere  not  only  protracted 
to  a  late  hour  of  the  night,  but  it  was  not  unusual  for  the  return- 
ing morning  to  find  them  still  occupied  with  their  melancholy 
labours.J 

*  The  Attorney-General  of  that  day,  who  stated  the  case  for  the  Crown,  waa  John 
Toler,^aftenTards  known  as  Lord  Norbury,  "  the  hanging  judge,"  who  would  jejt  v.ith 
the  culprit  as  he  sentenced  him  to  the  Gallows. — Alderman  Alexander  proved  that  he  had 
found  in  the  open  desk  of  Henry  Sheares,  in  Baggot  Street,  a  rough  draft  of  a  rebelliou? 
proclamation  to  the  People  of  Ireland,  in  the  handwriting  of  John  Sheares.  Armstrong 
was  examined  for  th«  Crown  by  Sauriu. — On  the  trial  it  was  for  Henry  Sheares  in 
particular,  that  Curran  spoke.  Mr.  Davis,  who  had  seen  the  brief  of  prisoners'  Coun- 
sel, and  knew  that  John  Sheares  had  actually  dictated  the  defence,  states  that  they 
admitted  his  part  in  the  proceedings  against  the  Government,  and,  in  fact,  indicated  to 
Counsel  his  desire  to  save  his  brother  Henry  even  at  the  risk  of  his  (John's)  life. — M. 

t  This  speech  in  its  reported  state,  is  by  no  means  the  most  favourable  specimen  of 
Mr.  Curran's  eloquence.  Several  passages  in  it  are  broken  and  unconnected,  which  may 
be  attributed  either  to  the  incorrectness  of  the  reporter,  or  to  the  extreme  exhaustion  of 
the  speaker.  If  the  defect  arose  from  the  latter  cause,  the  solemnity  of  his  delivery 
atoned  for  it  with  his  auditors;  for  nothing  could  exceed  the  etfect  wliich  it  produced 
upon  them.  The  suppression  of  this  defence  has  been  so  often  the  subject  of  public 
regret,  that  the  whole  of  it,  as  it  has  been  preserved,  is  given  here. — C.  [This  is  an 
error.    In  Davis's  edition  of  Curran's  speeches,  a  fuller  report  is  given.]     M. 

X  George  Ponsonby  opened  for  Henry  and  Plunket  for  John  Sheares.  M'Nally  pressed 
8ome  law  points  with  little  effect.  Three  witnesses  were  tlien  examined  to  prove  Captain 
Armstrong  an  Atheist:  two  that  he  was  an  avowed  Republican  and  rebel.  Seve-al  wit- 
cesses  testified  as  to  the  chavacter  of  the  Sheareses.    The  trial  had  commenced  *t  niua 


TKIAL   OF   THE   SHEABESES.  2'>5 

It  was  nikliiight  when  Mr.  Gurrau  rose  to  address  the  jury;  and 
the  feelings  with  which  lie  entered  on  the  task  cannot  be  perfectly 
conceived,  without  adverting  to  the  persons  who  were  grouped 
around  him.  At  the  bar  stood  his  clients,  connected  with  each 
other  by  blood,  with  their  advocate,  and  many  more  of  the  sur- 
rounding audience,  by  profession,  and  with  the  presiding  judge  by 
the  ties  of  hereditary  friendship.'"  lipon  the  bench  he  saw  in 
Lord  Carleton  one  of  his  own  oldest  and  most  valued  friends,  with 
Avhom  he  was  now  to  intercede,  if  intercession  could  avail,  for 
those  who  had  so  many  tender  claims  to  liis  merciful  considera- 
tion ;  while  upon  the  jury  appeared  several  whom  Mr.  Curran  (and 
probably  his  clients)  had  long  known  as  acquaintances  and  com- 
panions, and  with  more  than  one  of  whom  he  had  lived,  and  was 
still  living,  upon  terms  of  the  most  confidential  intimacy.  Wiien 
to  this  collection  of  private  relations,  so  unusual  upon  such  an 
occasion,  are  added  the  other  attending  public  circumstances,  it 
is  not  surprising  that  the  surviving  spectators  of  this  memorable 
scene  should  speak  of  it  as  marked  by  indescribable  solemnity 
The  fate  that  impended  over  the  unfortunate  brothers — the  per- 
turbed state  of  Ireland — tlie  religious  influence  of  the  liour — the 
throng  of  visages  in  the  galleries,  some  of  them  disfigured  by 
poverty,  others  betraying,  by  their  impassioned  expression,  a 
consciousness  of  partiei})ation  in  the  oftence  for  which  the  accused 

in  the  morning.  At  midnight,  aftei  fifteen  hours'  sitting,  in  a  crowded  court,  in  inidsum- 
nior,  Curran  entreated  the  delay  of  a  few  hours  "  for  repose,  or  rather  for  recollection." 
If  necessary,  s;iid  he,  "I  'jrill  go  on,  if  I  sink."  Lord  Carleton,  instead  of  adjourning 
until  the  next  niori)iug,  which  he  could  have  done,  asked  the  Attorney-General's  opinion. 
'('■>lcr  declined  assenting  to  any  adjournment,  'ind  said  if  the  Sheareses'  counsel  did  nut 
speak  to  the  evidence,  the  Crown  lawyer  would  waive  their  right  to  si)eak,  and  leave  the 
matter  at  once  to  the  Court.  Then,  after  a  sitting  of  1(1  hours,  nith  only  twenty  minutes' 
interval,  Carleton  decided  on  going  on.  And  tlir  tri;il  actually  proceeded  eight  hours 
longer— making  tweiity-foHf  in  all !  It  was  undei'  such  circumstances  that  Curran 
made  his  speech  for  Henry  Sheaies,  one  ot  .he  greatest  forensic  efforts  ever  made  in 
any  Court  of  law. — M. 

*  Lord  Carleton  had  been  the  iuiimatc  Iriend  of  the  parents  of  tlie  prisoners— (see  Iho 
conclusion  of  the  trial :)— a  report  even  prevailed  that  he  had  been  the  guardian  of  the 
latter  ;  but  this,  it  is  presumed,  was  incorrect. — C. 

12 


260  LIFE    OF   CL'KKAN. 

were  about  to  sutt'er,  and  all  of  them  rendered  haggard  and 
spectral  by  the  dim  lights  that  discovered  them — the  very  presence 
of  those  midnight  lights  so  associated  in  Irish  minds  with  images 
of  death— every  thing  combined  to  inspire  the  beholders,  who 
vvei'e  now  enfeebled  by  exhausiion,  with  a  superstitious  awe,  and 
to  make  the  objects,  amidst  which  the  advocate  rose  to  perform 
the  last  ofiices  to  his  sinking  clients,*  appear  not  so  much  a  reality 
as  the  picture  of  a  strained  and  disturbed  imagination. 

Mr.  Curran.f — "My  lord,  before  I  address  you  or  the  jury,  1 
would  wish  to  make  one  preliminary  observation.     It  may  be  an 

*  j/Ir.  Curian  was  nominally  counsel  for  only  one  of  the  pvisoners :  lie  had  originally 
been  the  assignt-d  counsel  for  both  ;  but  before  tlie  trial  commenced,  at  tlie  request  of 
John  Sheares,  'Mr.  Ponsonby  was  assigned  one  of  his  counsel  in  the  room  of  Mr.  Curran. 
in  order  to  ,';ive  the  prisoners  four  counsel  between  them.  The  other  two  were  Mr.  Pluu- 
Uet  ami  iMr.  M'Xally.  But  as  the  chart;e  and  evidence  agains'.  both  the  i)risoners  were 
the  same,  lli''  counsel  for  one  was  virtuallj'  defending  the  other. — C. 

t  Tliat  tlic  reader  may  more  fully  couipreliend  the  topics  of  Mr  Curran's  speech  for  the 
prisoners,  tlie  following  summary  of  tlie  leading  articles  of  the  evidence  is  inserted.  The 
principal  witness  for  the  crown,  John  Warnford  Armstrong,  of  the  King's  County  mititia, 
jiroved  the  overt-acts  of  high  treason  Ihid  in  llic  indictment.  He  swore  that  he  was 
introduced  l)y  Mr.  Byrne,  a  bookseller  of  Diil)liii,  to  the  prisoners,  who,  supposing  hiru 
(Armstronj;)  to  be  an  United  Irishman,  freely  communicated  lo  him  their  treasonal)le 
designs.  He  had  subseriuent  interviews  witli  llieiu  at  tlieir  owr.  liomes,  tlie  subjects  of 
which  he  regularly  reported  to  Culonel  L'Estrange  and  Captain  Clibborn  of  his  own  regi- 
ment, to  Mr.  Coolie  of  the  Castle,  and  to  Lord  Castlereagh.  Doubts  having  been  enter- 
tained of  the  witness'  belief  in  the  existence  of  a  Deity,  a  future  state  of  i-ewards  and 
punislinients,  Mr.  Curran,  who  cross-examined  him,  pressed  him  upon  those  points.  Cap- 
tain Armstrong  swore  that  he  had  always  professed  that  belief,  and  thai  he  had  never 
derided  ihe  obligation  of  an  oath. 

He  also  swore  that  he  had  never  s:iid,  "  that  if  im  other  ]ierson  could  be  found  to  cut 
ofi"  the  head  of  the  King  of  England,  that  he  (the  witness)  would  do  it ;"  and  that  he  had 
never  declared  "  that  the  works  of  Paine  contained  his  creed." 

To  these  latter  articles  of  Armstrong's,  evidence  was  opi)Osed,  that  of  T.  Dought,  Esq., 
who  swore  that  Armstrong,  witli  whom  he  was  very  intimate,  had  frequently  uttered 
atheistical  opinions;  and,  with  his  usual  cahimess  of  manner,  had  spoken  of  the  future 
state  of  the  soul  of  man  as  an  "  eternal  sleep — annihilation — non-existence." 

R.  Bride,  Esq.,  barrister  at  law,  swore  that  he  had  heard  Armstrong  speak  slightingly 
of  the  obligation  of  an  oath. 

C.  R.  Shervington,  Esq.,  (I.ieutenaat,  41st  regiment,  and  uncle  to  Armstrong)  swore 
that  Armstrong  had  said  in  his  presence,  that  if  tliere  was  not  another  executioner  in 
the  kingdom  for  George  the  Third,  he  would  be  one,  and  p'que  himself  upon  it ;  and  that 
upon  another  occasion  Armstrong  handed  him  Paine's  Rights  of  Man,  saying,  "  Road  this, 
U  is  my  creed." 


TKIAL    OF   THE    SUEAKESES.  267 

observatiou  only — it  may  be  a  request.  Fur  myself  I  am  .ndifter- 
eiit ;  but  I  feel  I  am  now  unequal  to  the  duty — I  am  sinkii  g  under 
the  weight  of  it.  AVe  all  know  tlie  character  of  the  jury:  the 
interval  of  their  separation  must  be  short,  if  it  should  be  deemed 
necessary  to  separate  them.  I  protest  I  have  sunk  under  this  trial. 
If  I  must  go  on,  the  Court  must  bear  with  me  ; — the  jury  may  also 
bear  with  me : — I  will  go  on  until  I  sink ; — but,  after  a  sitting  of 
sixteen  hours  with  only  twenty  minutes'  interval,  in  these  times,  1 
should  hoj>e  it  woul<I  not  be  thought  an  obtrusive  request,  to  hope 
for  a  few  hours' intev.i:  for  repose,  or  rather  for  recollection." 

Lord  Carleton. — "  What  say  you,  Mr.  Attorney-General  ?" 

Mr.  Attorney-General  Toler. — "My  lords,  T  feel  such  publi.' 
iiiiunvenience  from  .adjourning  cases  of  tliis  kind,  that  I  cannot 
consent.  The  counsel  for  the  prisoners  (;annot  be  more  e.vhausted 
than  those  for  the  prosecution.  If  they  do  not  choose  to  speak  to 
the  evidence,  we  shall  give  up  our  right  to  speak,  and  leave  the 
matter  to  the  Court  altogether.  They  have  had  two  speeches 
ali'cady  ;  and  leaving  them  unveplied  to  is  a  great  concession." 

Lord  Carleton. — "  AYe  wr.ald  be  glad  to  accommodate  a.<  murh 
as  possible.  I  am  as  mm-h  eiihausted  as  any  other  jiersou  ;  but 
we  think  it  better  to  go  on." 

Mr.  Currau. — "  Gentlemen  of  the  jury  :  it  seems  that  much  has 
been  conceded  to  us.  God  hell)  ^'^-  ^  '^^  ""^^  know  what  has  been 
conceded  to  me — if  so  insignificant  a  jicrson  may  have  extorted 
the  rcniMrk.  Perhaps  it  is  a  concession  that  1  am  allowed  to  rise 
in  such  a  state  of  mind  am]  body,  of  collapse  and  deprivation,  as 
to  feel  but  a  little  spark  of  indignation  raised  by  the  r<'m:iik.  that 
iiiu.h  has  been  conceded  to  the  counsel  for  the  prisoners;  murh 
has  been  conceded  to  the  ]>risi.iieis '.  Almighty  and  merciful  God, 
who  lookest  down  upon  us,  wlini  are  the  times  to  which  we  are 
reserved,  when  we  are  told  that  much  has  been  conceded  to  priso- 
ners who  are  put  ui>(>n  their  trial  at  m  moment  like  (his— of  more 
darkness  and  night  of  the  human  intellect  tliau  a  darkness  of  the 
natural  period  of  (wenty-f<.ur  hours,  that  puWic  convenience  can 


26S  1.1FE    OF    CUKKAJNT, 

not  Spare  a  respite  of  a  few  hours  to  those  who  are  ace  sed  for 
their  Uves ;  ami  tliat  much  has  been  conceded  to  the  advocate, 
almost  exhausted,  in  tlie  poor  I'emark  which  he  has  endeavoured 
to  make  upon  it  I 

"  M J  countrymen,  I  do  pray  you,  by  the.  awful  duty  which  you 
owe  your  country — by  tliat  sacred  duty  which  you  owe  your  cha- 
racter (and  I  know  how  you  feel  it)  I  do  obtest  you,  by  the 
Almighty  God,  to  have  mercy  upon  my  client — to  save  him,  not 
from  the  consequences  of  his  guilt,  but  from  the  baseness  of  his 
accusers,  and  the  pressure  of  tlie  treatment  under  which  I  am 
sinking.  With  what  spii'it  did  you  leave  your  habitations  this 
day  ?  In  what  state  of  mind  and  heart  did  you  come  here  from 
yoQi'  family  ?  With  what  sentiments  did  you  leave  your  children, 
to  du  an  act  of  great  public  importance ;  to  pledge  yourselves  at 
the  throne  of  Eternal  Justice,  by  the  awful  and  solemn  obligation  of 
an  oath,  to  do  perfect,  cool,  impartial,  and  steady  justice,  between 
the  accuser  and  tlie  accused  ?  Have  you  come  abroad  under  the 
idea  that  public  fury  is  clamorous  for  blood ;  that  you  are  put 
there  under  the  mere  formality  or  ceremonial  of  death,  and  ought 
to  gratify  that  fury  with  the  blood  for  which  it  seems  to  thirst  ? 
If  you  are,  I  have  known  sor.ie  of  you,*  more  than  one,  or  two, 

*  One  of  the  p'jrsons  on  the  jury  to  whom  the  obsefvation  was  partieularly  dM-ected, 
w:!o  Sir  J.i]in  F.mti.s,  ■^•ith  whom  JTr.  Ciin-ao  had  been  long  connected  by  habits  of  private 
friendship,  and  in  whose  society  he  had  passed  many  of  his  happiest  hours  of  convivial 
rel.'ixation. 

The  foUnwing  little  impromptu  ihuws,  in  a  striking  point  of  contrast,  the  different  stylos 
in  which  dilfereot  occasions  induced  the  writer  to  address  the  same  individual: — 

TO  SIR  JOHN   FERNS. 

WITH      A      BOTTLE     OF     CHAMPAIGNE. 

This  botile  I've  raised  from  the  dust, 
Where  for  many  a  year  it  had  lain, 
In  hope  that  one  day  with  the  just 
It  might  rise  and  might  sparkle  again. 

And  now,  my  dear  Sir  John,  I  send 
This  type  of  good  tidings  to  come, 
That  the  grave-digger's  emyire  must  end. 
And  his  prisoners  get  loose  from  the  tomb. 

J.  P.  C. 


TfelAf.    or   TIIK    SfTFARESES.  269 

or  three,  in  some  of  those  situations,  where  tlie  human  heart  speaks 
its  honest  sentiments.  I  think  I  ouo-ht  to  know  vou  well :  vou 
ought  to  know  me ;  and  there  are  some  of  you  who  ought  to  lis- 
ten to  what  so  obscure  an  individual  may  say,  not  altogether 
without  some  degree  of  personal  contidence  and  respect.  I  will 
not  solicit  your  attention,  by  paying  the  greatest  ooinpliment 
which  man  can  pay  to  man  ;  but  I  hold  you  in  regard  as  being 
worthy  of  it;  I  will  speak  such  language  as  I  would  not  stoop  to 
Jiold  if  I  did  not  think  you  worthy  of  it.  Gentlemen,  T  will  not 
be  afraid  of  beafinninff  Mith  what  some  mav  think  I  should  avoid, 
the  disastrous  picture  which  you  must  have  met  upon  your  way  to 
this  court.  A  more  artful  advocate  might  endeavour  to  play  with 
you,  in  supposing  you  to  possess  a  degree  of  pity  and  of  feeling 
bevond  that  of  anv  other  human  being.  But  I,  gentlemen,  am 
not  afraid  of  beginning  by  wai'uing  you  against  those  prejudices 
which  all  must  possess;  by  speaking  strongly  against  them  ;  by 
striking  upon  tlie  string,  if  not  strong  enough  to  snap  it,  I  will 
wake  it  into  vibration.  Unless  you  make  an  exertion  beyond  the 
power  almost  of  men  to  make,  you  are  not  fit  to  trv  this  cause. 
You  may  preside  at  such  an  execution  as  the  witness  would  extol 
himself  for,*  at  the  sentence  flowing  from  a  very  short  inquiry 
into  reason.  But  you  are  not  fit  to  dischai'ge  the  awful  trust  of 
lionest  men  coming  into  the  box,  inditferent  as  they  stood 
unsworm,  to  pronounce  a  verdict  of  death  and  infamy,  or  of  exis- 
tence and  of  honour.     You  liave  only  the  interval  between  this 

*  Captain  Armstrong,  the  witness  in  '.his  case,  having  been  qnestioneci  by  Mr.  Currau 
regarding  the  dcatli  of  two  counMynieii,  replied,  "We  were  going  up  Blackmorc  Hill, 
under  Sir  James  Duff;  there  was  a  party  of  rebels  there.  We  met  three  men  with  green 
cockades:  one  we  shot — another  we  hanged — and  the  third  we  (logged  and  made  a  guide 
of."  Thoma.s  Droughl,  Esq.,  (one  of  the  witnesses  for  the  prisoners)  gave  in  evidence  a 
conversation  which  he  had  held  with  Armstrong,  respecting  Uiis  transaction.  "  I  aslicd 
him,  (said  Mr.  Douglit)  how  he  could  possibly  reconcile  it  to  liimself  to  deprive  those 
wretches  of  life,  witliout  even  tlie  form  of  a  trial.  He  acknowledged  that  he  did  so.  I 
asked  him  whetlier  he  expected  any  piniishment  for  it  ;  and  thoc.gli  he  did  nut  e.xpect  il 
from  Government,  yet  that  there  was  an  all-powerful  Being  who  would  puiiish  him.  He 
said,  '  You  knew  my  opinion  long  ai;o  upon  this  subject.'"  This  was  the  execution  tc 
wliich  Mr   Curran  above  alluded  -  C. 


270  rjFK  OF  ruRRAr. 

and  pronotincing  your  verdict  to  reflect;  and  the  other  interval, 
when  you  are  resigning  up  your  last  breath,  between  your  ver- 
dict and  your  grave,  when  you  lament  that  you  did  not  as  you 
ought. 

"  Do  you  tin  Ilk  I  want  to  flatter  your  passions?  T  would  scorn 
mj'^self  for  i  t.  1  want  to  address  your  reason  ;  to  call  upon  your 
conscience ;  to  remind  you  of  your  oaths,  and  the  consequence  of 
that  verdict,  which  upon  the  law  and  tlie  fact,  you  must  give 
between  the  accuser  and  the  accused.  Part  of  what  I  shall  say 
must  of  necessity  be  addressed  to  the  Court,  for  it  is  a  matter  of 
law.  But  upon  this  subject,  every  observation  in  point  of  law  is 
so  inseparably  blended  with  the  fact,  that  I  cannot  pretend  to  say 
that  I  can  discharge  your  attention,  gentlemen,  even  when  I  address 
the  Court.  On  the  contrary  I  shall  the  more  desire  your  atten- 
tion, not  so  much  that  you  may  understand  what  I  shall  say,  as 
what  the  Court  shall  say. 

"Gentlemen,  this  indictment  is  founded  upon  the  statute  25 
Ed.  III.  The  statute  itself  begins  with  a  melancholy  observation 
upon  the  proneness  to  deterioration,  which  has  been  fomid  in  all 
countries,  unfortunately,  to  take  place  in  their  criminal  law,  par- 
ticularly in  the  law  respecting  High  Treason.  The  statute  begins 
with  reciting,  that,  in  the  uncertainty  of  adjudications,  it  became 
difficult  to  know  what  was  treason,  and  what  was  not :  and,  to 
remove  further  difficulty,  it  professes  to  declare  all  species  of 
treason  that  should  thereafter  be  so  considered;  and,  by  thus  regu- 
lating the  law,  to  secure  the  state  and  the  constitution,  and  the 
persons  of  those  interested  in  the  executive  departments  of  the 
government,  from  the  common  acts  of  violence  that  might  be  used 
to  their  destruction.  The  three  first  clauses  of  the  statute  seem 
to  have  gone  a  great  way  indeed  upon  the  subject ;  because  the 
object  of  the  provisions  was  to  protect  the  person ;  and  I  beg  of 
you  to  understand  what  I  mean  by  person — I  mean  the  natural 
person;  I  mean  no  figure  of  speech — not  the  monarch  in  the 
abstract,  but  the  natural  man ;  the  first  clause  was  made  without 


fUIAt    OF    TTIK    Sfn^'lRESPiS.  271 

the  HTiallest  relation  to  the  executive  power,  but  solely  to  the 
natural  body  and  person.  Tho  \\ords  ai'o,  'When  a  man  doth 
compass  or  imagine  the  death  of  the  Idng,  or  of  our  lady  his 
queen,  or  their  eldest  son  and  hoii',  and  thereof  be  of  suflicient 
proof  attained  of  open  deed  by  men  of  his  r^ondition,  he  shall  be 
a  traitor.'  This,  T  say,  relates  only  to  the  natiu'al  person  of  the 
king.  The  son  and  heir  of  the  hing  is  inentioneii  in  the  same 
manner;  but  he  has  no  power,  and  therefore  a  compassing  his 
death  must  mean  the  deatii  of  bis  natural  j^^ci-son  ;  and  so  must  it 
be  in  the  case  of  the  hing.  To  conceive  the  purpose  of  destroying 
a  common  subject  was  once  a  felony  -.-r  death ;  and  that  wa.s 
expi'cssed  in  the  same  language,  compa.-siiig  and  imagining  the 
death  of  the  subject.  It  was  thought  right  to  dismiss  that  severe 
rigoui'  of  the  law  in  the  case  of  the  subject ;  but  it  was  tliought 
riffht  to  continue  it  in  tlie  case  of  the  h^no-  in  contradistinction  to 
all  the  suojects  widiu'.  the  realm. 

"The  statute,  after  describing  the  persons,  describes  what  shall 
be  evidence  of  that  high  and  abominable  guilt ;  it  must  appeal'  by 
open  deed — ihe  intention  of  tho  guilty  heart  must  be  proved  by 
evidence  of  the  open  deed  committed  towards  the  accomplishment 
of  the  design.  Pei'haps  in  the  hurry  of  speaking — perhaps  from 
the  mistakes  of  reporters;  sometimes  from  one,  and  sometimes 
from  the  other,  judges  are  too  often  made  to  say  that  such  or  such 
an  overt  act  is,  if  proved  to  have  been  connnitted,  ground  upon 
which  {]w  jury  must  iind  the  party  guilty  of  the  accusation.  T 
)nust  deny  tlie  position,  not  only  in  the  reason  of  the  tliiiiii-.  but  I 
am  fortified  by  the  abl'^-t  writers  ujinn  the  law  of  tiv.oun.  In  the 
I'eason  of  the  thing;  because  the  design  entertained,  and  tho  act 
done,  are  natters  foi-  the  jury.  Wliether  a  ]iarty  compassed  the 
king's  death  or  not,  is  matter  for  the  jury  ;  and,  therefore,  if  a  cer- 
tain fact  be  proved,  il  is  nonsense  to  say  that  su<'h  a  rnrtrliisinn 
must  follow;  becaus'?.  a  conclusion  of  law  wouM  then  l>f  |M()- 
nounced  by  the  jury,  not  by  the  court.  1  am  wai'rantcd  in  this  by 
the  writers  cited  by  Mr.  Justice  Foster;  and  therefore,  gentlemen. 


272  I'IFE   or   CUERAN. 

upon  the  first  connt  in  tlie  indictment  you  are  to  decide  a  plaiti 
imdtcr  of  fact :  1st,  Whether  the  prisoner  did  compass  and  ima- 
gine the  deatli  of  the  king  ?  or  whether  there  be  any  act  proved, 
or  apparent  means  taken,  which  he  resorted  to  for  the  perpetration 
of  that  crime  ?  XJpoi]  this  subject  many  observations  have  already 
been  made  before  me.  I  will  take  the  liberty  of  making  one :  1 
do  not  know  whether  it  has  been  made  before.  Even  in  a  case 
where  the  overt  act  stated  has  of  its  own  nature  gone  to  the  per- 
son of  the  king,  still  it  is  left  to  the  jury  to  decide  whether  it  wa.s 
done  witli  the  crimind  jiurpose  alleged  cr  not?  In  Russel's  case 
there  was  an  overt  act  C)f  the  conspiracy  to  seize  the  guards; 
natural  consequence  tlireatened  from  an  act  ©f  gross  violence  so 
immediately  approaching  the  king's  person,  might  fairly  be  said  to 
atfect  his  life ;  but  still  it  was  loft  tw  the  jury  to  decide  whether 
that  was  done  for  the  pu!-])Ose  of  compassing  the  king's  death.  I 
mention  this,  because  I  thin]:  it  a  strong  ansv/er  to  those  kinds  of 
expressions,  which  in  bad  times  fall  from  the  mouths  of  prosecu- 
tors, neither  law  nor  i)oetry,  but  sometimes  half  metaphj-sical. 
Laws  may  be  enacted  in  the  spirit  of  sound  policy,  and  supported 
by  superior  reason;  but  when  only  half  considered,  and  their  pro- 
visions half  enumerated,  they  become  the  plague  of  government, 
and  the  grave  of  principle.  It  is  that  kind  of  refinement  and  ^ant 
which  overwhelmed  the  law  of  treason,  and  brought  it  to  a  meta- 
physical death ;  the  laws  are  made  to  pass  through  a  contorted 
undei'standing,  vibratory  and  confused  ;  and  therefore,  after  a  small 
inteival  fi-om  the  first  enaction  of  any  law  in  Great  Britain,  the 
dreams  of  fancy  get  around,  and  the  law  is  lost  in  the  mass  of 
absurd  comment.  Hence  it  was,  that  the  statute  gave  its  awful 
declarations  to  those  glossarists,  so  that  if  any  case  should  arise, 
apparently  within  the  statute,  they  were  not  to  indulge  themselves 
in  conjecture,  but  refer  to  the  standard,  and  abide  by  ihe  law  as 
marked  out  for  them.  Therefore,  I  say,  that  the  issue  lor  the  jury 
here  is  to  decide,  in  the  words  of  the  statute,  whether  the  priso- 
ners "  did  compass  the  death  of  the  king,"  and  whether  they  can 


TKIAL    01<'   THE    SHEARESES.  273 

Bay,  upoi)  their  oatlis,  that  there  is  any  overt  act  proveJ  ia  evi- 
dence, manifesting  an  intention  of  injury  to  the  natural  person  of 
the  kino. 

"  T  know  that  the  semblance  of  authority  may  be  used  to  contra- 
dict me.  If  any  man  can  reconcile  himself  to  the  miserable  toil 
of  poring  over  tRe  records  of  guilt,  he  will  find  them  marked,  not 
in  black,  but  in  red,  the  blood  of  some  unfortunate  men,  leaving 
the  jnarks  of  folly,  barbarity,  and  tyranny.  But  T  am  glad  that 
men,  who  in  some  situations,  appear  not  to  have  had  the  pulse  of 
honest  compassion,  have  made  sober  reflections  in  the  \u>uv  of  j)oli- 
tit-al  disgrace.  Such  has  been  the  fate  of  Lord  Coke  ;  who,  in  tho 
triuD.iph  and  insolence  of  power,  pursued  a  conduct,  which,  in  tho 
hour  of  calm  retreat  lie  reo-retted  in  the  lani>'uao-e  of  sorrow  and 
disappointment.  lie  then  held  a  language  which  I  willingly 
repeat,  '  that  a  conspiracy  to  levy  war  was  no  act  of  compassing 
the  murder  of  the  king.'  There  he  spoke  the  language  of  law  and 
good  sense;  for  a  man  shall  not  be  charged  willi  one  crime,  and 
convicted  of  another.  It  is  a  narrow  and  a  cruel  policy  to  nuike 
a  conspiracy  to  levy  war  an  act  of  compassing  the  king's  death, 
because  it  is  a  separate  and  distinct  offence  ;  because  it  is  calling 
i.jion  the  honest  affections  of  the  lieart,  and  creating  those  pathetical 
effusions  which  confound  all  distinct  principles  of  law,  a  grievance 
.not  to  be  borne  in  a  state  where  the  laws  ought  to  be  certain. 

"  This  reasoning  is  founded  upon  the  momentary  supi)Osition 
that  the  evidence  is  true,  for  you  are  to  recollect  the  <.piarter  from 
whence  it  comes :  there  has  been  an  attempt,  by  precipitate  con- 
fession, to  transfer  guilt  to  innocence,  in  order  to  escape  the  juni- 
ishment  of  the  law.  Here,  gentlemen,  there  is  evidence  of  levying 
war,  wliich  act,  it  is  said,  lends  to  the  death  of  the  king.  That  is 
a  constructive  tieason,  calculated  as  a  trap  for  the  loyalty  of  a  jury, 
therefore  you  .should  set  bounds  to  proceedings  of  that  kind ;  for 
it  is  an  abuse  of  the  law  to  make  one  class  of  offence,  sufficiently 
punished  already,  evidenr'e  of  another.  Every  court,  and  every 
jury,  should  set  themselves   against  crimes,  when  they  come  to 


274  LIFE   OF   CUKRAN. 

determine  upon  distinct  and  specified  guilt;  but  they  are  not  to 
encourage  a  coinfusion  of  crimes  by  disregarding  the  distinction  of 
punishments,  nor  to  show  the  eflfusiou  of  their  loyalty  by  an  effusion 
of  blood. 

"  I  cannot  but  say,  that  when  cases  of  this  kind  have  been  under 
judgment  in  Westminster  Hall,  there  was  some*  kind -of  natural 
reason  to  excuse  this  confusion  in  the  reports — the  propriety  of 
making  the  person  of  the  king  secure  :  a  war  immediately  adjoin- 
ing the  precincts  of  the  palace — a  riot  in  London — might  endanger 
the  life  of  the  king.  But  can  the  same  law  prevail  in  every  j)art  of 
the  British  empire  ?  It  may  be  an  overt  act  of  compassing  the 
king's  death  to  levy  war  in  Great  Britain  ;  but  can  it  be  so  in 
Jjimaica,  in  the  Bahama  Islands,  or  in  Corsica,  when  it  was  annexed 
to  the  British  em[)ire  ?  Suppose  at  that  time  a  man  had  been 
indicted  there  for  compassing  tlie  king's  death,  and  the  evidence 
was  that  he  intended  to  transfer  the  dominion  of  the  island  to  the 
Genoese  or  the  French ;  what  would  y<^u  say,  if  you  were  told 
that  was  an  act  by  which  he  intended  to  murder  the  king?  By 
seizing  Corsica  he  was  to  murder  the  king!  How  can  there  be 
any  immediate  attempt  upon  the  king's  life  by  such  a  proceeding? 
If  is  not  possible,  and  therefore  no  such  consequence  can  be  pro- 
bably inferred  ;  and  therefore  I  call  upon  you  to  listen  to  the  court 
with  respect ;  but  I  also  call  upon  you  to  listen  to  common  sense, 
and  to  consider  whether  the  conspiring  to  raise  war  in  this  coun- 
try be  an  overt  act  of  compassing  the  king's  death  in  this  country.* 
I  will  go  fui'ther.  If  the  statute  of  Edward  III.  had  been  con- 
ceived to  make  a  conspiracy  to  levy  war  an  over  act  of  compassing 


♦  This  point  was  strongly  urged  by  Mr.  J  .onby,  counsel  for  John  Sheares,  and  by  Mr. 
Curran's  colleague,  Mr.  Piunket ;  but  the  Court  decided  that  it  was  untenable.  The 
Prime  Serjeant  oliserved  upon  it  with  more  zeal  than  logical  consistency  : — "  It  wa-i  fof 
iliU  day  reserved  to  broach  the  alarming  and  monstrous  position.  I  trust  in  God  that 
the  authority  of  such  opinions  has  not  gone  abroad;  and  that  the  rebellion,  which  has 
for  some  time  ravaged  the  country,  has  not  been  matured  by  such  a  doctrine."  Lord 
Carleton,  instead  of  countenancing  so  absurd  an  insinuation  against  the  counsel,  answered 
their  arguments  in  the  language  of  compliment  and  respect. — C. 


TllIAL   OF  THE   SHEARESES.  276 

tbo  king's  tkatb,  it  would  be  unnecessary  to  make  it  penal  by  any 
subsecjuent  -.tatute ;  and  yet  subsequent  statutes  were  enacted  for 
that  purpose,  whicli  I  consider  an  unanswerable  argument,  tbat  it 
was  not  considered  as  coming  witbin  tlie  purview  of  tbe  clause 
against  compassing  the  king's  doatb.  Now,  gentlemen,  you  will  be 
pleased  tj  jousider  wba^  was  tbe  evidence  brougbt  forward  to 
support  the  indictment,  I  do  iiot  tbink  it  necessary  to  exbausl 
your  attention  by  stating  at  large  tbe  evidence  given  by  Captain 
Armstrong.  He  gave  an  acccunt  wliicb  we  sball  have  occasion  to 
examine  witb  regard  to  itscredibilitv.  He  stated  bis  introduction, 
first,  to  Mr.  Henry  Sbeares,  afterv\<j;-<l!i  to  bis  brotber;  and  he 
stated  a  conversation,  which  you  do  not  forget,  so  strange  has  it 
been !  But,  in  tbe  whole  course  of  bis  evidence,  so  far  from 
making  any  observation,  or  saying  a  word  of  connexion  with  the 
power  at  war  witb  the  king,  he  expre.ssly  said,  tbat  tbe  insurrec- 
tion, by  whomsoever  prepared,  or  by  Avhat  infatuation  encouraged, 
was  to  be  a  home  exertion,  indepon  lent  of  any  foreign  interference, 
whatever.  And,  therefore,  I  am  vvananted  in  saying,  that  such  an 
insuri'cction  does  Tiot  come  witLin  the  first  clause  of  the  statute. 
It  cannot  come  within  the  second,  of  adherinfi:  to  the  kino-'s  ene- 
mies,  because  that  means  his  foreign  eneinies ;  and  here,  so  far 
from  any  intercourse  with  them,  they  were  totally  disre- 
garded. 

"  Adhering  to  tbe  Icing's  enemies  means  co-operating  with  thenj, 
sending  them  provisions,  or  intelligence,  or  supplying  them  with 
arms.  But  I  venture  to  say,  that  there  has  not  been  any  one  case, 
deciding  that  any  act  can  be  an  adhei'cnce  to  a  foreign  enemy, 
which  was  not  calculated  for  the  advantage  of  that  enemy.  In  the 
case  of  Jackson,  Ilensey,  and  Lord  Preston,  the  parties  liad  gone 
as  far  as  they  could  in  giving  assistance.  So  it  was  in  Quigley's. 
But,  in  addition  to  this,  I  must  repeat,  that  it  is  utterly  unneces- 
sary tbat  the  law  should  be  otherwise,  for  levying  war  is  of 
itself  a  crime;  therefore  it  is  tmnecessary,  by  a  strained  con- 
Btnctiou,   to  say,  tbat  'evying  war,  or    conspiring  to   levy  war, 


276  LIFE   OP  CtJRRAN. 

should  come  within  any  other  clause  equally  penal,  but  not  so " 
descriptive. 

"But,  gentlemen,  suppose  I  am  mistaken  in  both  points  of  my 
argument — suppose  the  prisoners  (if  the  evidence  were  true)  did 
compass  the  king's  deatli,  and  adliere  to  the  king's  enemies  :  what 
are  you  to  found  your  verdict  upon  ?  UpoA  your  oaths  .  what  are 
they  to  be  founded  upon  ?  Upon  the  oath  of  the  witness :  and 
what  is  that  founded  upon  ? — upon  this,  and  this  only — that  he 
does  believe  there  is  an  eternal  God,  an  intelligent  supreme  exist- 
ence, capable  of  inflicting  eternal  punishment  for  oflFences,  or  con- 
ferring eternal  compensation  upon  man  after  he  has  passed  the 
boundary  of  the  grave.  But  where  the  witness  believes  that  he  is 
possessed  of  a  perishing  soul,  and  ^liat  there  is  nothing  upon  which 
punishment  or  reward  can  be  exe'ted,  he  proceeds,  regardless  of 
the  number  of  his  ofiences,  and  undisturbed  by  the  terrors  of 
exhausted  fancy,  which  might  save  you  from  the  fear  that  your 
verdict  is  founded  upon  perjuiy.  Suppose  he  imagines  that  the 
body  is  actuated  by  some  k-ind  of  animal  machinery — I  know 
not  in  ^^llat  language  to  dcsoibe  his  notions — suj^pose  his 
opinion  of  the  beautiful  system  framed  by  the  almighty  hand  to 
be,  that  it  is  all  folly  and  blindness  compared  to  the  manner  in 
which  he  considers  himself  to  have  been  created — or  his  abomi- 
nable heart  conceives  his  ideas,  or  his  tongue  communicates  his 
notions ; — suppose  him,  I  say,  to  think  so — what  is  perjury  to 
liim  ?  He  needs  no  creed,  if  he  thinks  his  miserable  body  can 
take  eternal  I'efuge  in  the  grave,  and  the  last  puff  of  his  nostrils 
can  send  his  soul  into  annihilation !  He  laughs  at  the  idea  of 
eternal  justice,  and  tells  you,  that  the  grave,  into  which  he  sinks 
as  a  log,  forms  an  intrenchment  against  the  throne  of  God  and 
the  vengeance  of  exasperated  justice ! 

"  Do  you  not  feel,  my  fellow-countrymen,  a  sort  of  anticipated 
consolation  in  reflecting  upon  the  religion  which  gave  us  comfort 
in  our  early  days,  enabled  us  to  sustain  the  stroke  of  affliction,  and 
endeared  us  to  one  another ;  and,  when  we  see  our  friends  sinkinjj 


CHAUACTEB   OF   AliMSTKONG.  27? 

into  the  earth,  fills  us  with  the  expectation  that  we  rise  again — 
that  we  but  sleep  for  a  while  to  wake  for  ever.  But  what  kind  of 
communion  can  you  hold — what  interchange  expect — what  confi- 
dence place  in  that  abject  slave — that  condemned,  despaired-of 
wretch,  who  acts  under  the  idea  that  he  is  only  the  folly  of  a 
moment- -that  he  cannot  step  beyond  the  threshold  of  the  grave 
— that  that,  which  is  an  object  of  terror  to  the  best,  and  of  hope 
to  the  confiding,  is  to  him  contempt  or  despair  ? 

"  Bear  with  me,  my  countrymen  ;  I  feel  my  heart  running  away 
with  rae — the  worst  men  only  can  be  cool.  What  is  the  law  of 
this  country  ?  Tf  llie  witness  does  not  believe  in  God,  or  a  future 
state,  you  cannot  swear  him.  What  swear  him  upon?  Ts  it  upon 
the  book  or  the  leaf?  You  mio-ht  as  well  swear  him  by  a  bram- 
ble  or  a  coin.  The  ceremony  of  kissing  is  only  the  external 
symbol  by  which  man  seals  himself  to  the  precept,  and  says, 
'  May  God  so  help  me,  as  I  swear  the  truth.'  He  is  then  attached 
to  tlie  Divinity  upon  the  condition  of  telling  the  truth ;  and  he 
expects  mercy  from  Heaven,  as  he  performs  his  un<lertakiiig 
But  the  mfidel !  By  what  can  you  catch  his  soul  ?  or  by  what 
can  you  hold  it?  You  repulse  him  from  giving  evidonco  ;  for  lio 
lias  no  conscience — no  hope  to  cheer  h'm— no  puuiyhinent  to 
dread  !  What  is  the  evidence  touching  that  unfortunate  young 
man?  Wliat  said  his  own  relation,  Mr.  Shervington  ?  He  li;i<l 
talked  to  him  freely — had  known  liim  long.  What  kind  of  cha- 
racter did  he  give  of  him  ?  Paine  was  his  ci-eed  and  his  philoso- 
phy. He  liad  drawn  his  maxims  of  politics  from  the  vulgar  and 
furious  anarchy  broached  by  Mr.  Paine.  His  ideas  of  religion 
were  adopted  from  the  vulgar  maxims  of  the  same  man — the' 
scandal  of  in(|uiry — tlie  blasphemer  of  his  God  as  of  his  king. 
He  bears  testimony  against  himself,  that  he  submittal  to  the 
undertaking  of  reading  both  his  abominable  tracts — that  abomin- 
ab'e  abomination  of  all  abominations,  Paine's  'Age  of  Reason ;' 
who  professes  to  teach  mankind,  by  acknowledging  that  he  did 
not  learn  himself!     Why  not  swear  the  witness  upon  the  vulgar 


278  lAFK   OF   CUftKAN. 

maxims  of  that  base  fellow,  that  wretched  outlaw  and  fugitive 
from  his  country  and  his  God?  Is  it  not  lamentable  to  see  a 
man  labouring;  under  an  incurable  disease,  and  fond  of  his  own 
blotches  ?  '  Do  you  wish,'  says  he,  '  to  know  my  sentiments  with 
regard  to  politics?  I  have  learned  them  from  Paine!  I  do  not 
love  a  king ;  and,  if  no  other  executioner  could  be  found,  I  would 
myself  plunge  a  dagger  into  the  heart  of  George  III.,  because  he 
is  a  king.  And  because  he  is  my  king,  I  swear,  by  the  sacrc<d 
missal  of  Paine,  I  would  think  it  a  meritorious  thing  to  plunge  a 
dago-er  into  his  heart,  or  whom  I  had  devoted  a  soul  which  Mr. 
Paine  says  I  have  not  to  lend.'  Is  this  the  casual  etmsion  of  a 
giddy  young  man,  not  considering  the  meaning  of  what  he  said  ? 
If  it  were  said  among  a  parcel  of  boarding-school  misses,  where 
he  might  think  he  was  giving  a  specimen  of  his  courage,  by  nobly 
denying  religion,  there  might  be  some  excuse.  There  is  a  latitude 
assumed  upon  some  such  occasions.  A  little  blasphemy  and  a 
little  obscenity  passes  for  wit  in  some  companies.  But  recollect 
it  was  not  to  a  little  miss,  whom  he  wished  to  astonish,  that  he 
mentioned  these  sentiments,  but  to  a  kinsman,  a  man  of  that  b-i'  • 
ing  loyalty  I  confess  I  did  not  approve  of  his  conduct  in  the 
abstract,  talking  of  running  a  man  tln-ough  the  body;*  but  I 
admired  the  honest  boldness  of  the  soldier  who  expressed  his 
indignation  in  such  warm  language.  If  Mr.  Shervington  swore 
truly.  Captain  Armstrong  must  be  a  forsworn  witness — it  comes 
to  that  simple  point.  You  cannot  put  it  upon  other  ground.  I 
put  it  to  your  good  sense — I  am  not  playing  with  your  under- 
standings— I  am  putting  foot  to  foot,  and  credit  to  credit.  One  or 
other  of  the  two  must  be  perjured  :  which  of  them  is  it  ?  If  you 
disbelieve  Captain  Armstrong,  can  you  find  a  verdict  of  blood 
upon  his  evidence  ? 

*  This  alludes  to  a  part  of  Mr.  Shervington's  testimony.  "I  met  Captain  Clibborn, 
and  told  him  I  was  sorry  to  find  that  John  Armstrong  was  finding  the  secrets  of  men,  in 
order  to  discover  them.  He  told  me  it  was  a  different  thing — that  the  Sheareses  wanted 
to  seduce  him  from  his  allegiance.  '  Damn  him  !'  said  I,  '  he  should  have  run  them 
through  the  body.'  " 


AN   Ari'ROVEK,  279 

"  Gentlemen,  I  go  further.  I  know  your  horror  of  crimes — 
your  warmth  of  loyalty.  They  are  among  tlie  reasons  why  I 
respect  and  regard  you.  I  ask  you,  llieu,  will  you  reject  such  a 
witnesp  ?  or  would  you  dismiss  the  friend  you  regarded,  or  the 
child  you  loved,  upon  the  evidence  of  such  a  witness?  Suppose 
him  to  tell  his  own  story.  '  I  went  to  your  friend  or  ycur  child — 
I  addressed  myself  in  the  gai'b  of  friendshij),  in  the  smile  of  confi- 
dence, in  order  to  betray  it.  I  traduced  you — spoke  all  the  evil  I 
could  against  you,  to  inflame  him.  I  told  him  your  father  does 
not  love  you.'  If  he  went  to  you,  and  told  you  this — that  he 
'nflamed  your  child,  and  abused  you  to  your  friend,  and  said,  'I 
(tome  now  to  increase  it,  by  the  horror  of  superadded  cruelty,' 
vould  you  dismiss  from  your  love  or  aft'ection  the  child  or  the 
friend  you  loved  fnv  years?  You  would  not  prejudge  them.  You 
would  examine  the  consistency  of  the  man's  story ;  you  would 
listen  to  it  with  doubt,  and  receive  it  with  hesitation. 

"  Says  Captain  Armstrong,  P»yrne  was  my  bookseller  ;  from  hiir. 
[  bought  my  little  study  of  blaspliemy  and  obscenity,  with  which 
I  anuised  myself. — 'Shall  I  introduce  Mr.  Sheares  to  you?' — not 
saying  which.     What  was  done  then  ?      He  thought  it  was  not 
right  till  he  saw  Captain  Clibborn.     Has  he  stated  any  reason  why 
he  supposed  Mi'.  Sheares  had  any  wish  at  nil  In  be  introduced  to 
him?  any  reason  for  sup])0sing  that  IJyrne's  principles  were  of 
that  kind  ?  or  any  reason  why  he  imagined  the  intei-course  was  to 
lead  to  any  thing  improper  ?      It  is  most  material  that  he  says  he 
never  spoke  to  Byrne  upon  political  subjects :  therefore  he  knew 
a.othing  of  Byrne's  piinriplos,  nor  l)yrne  of  his.     But  the  propo- 
sal was  made;  and  he  was  so  alarmed,  that  he  wnuM  not  give  ar. 
answer  until  he  saw  his  captain.      Fs  \uA   this  incredible?     There 
is  one  jircumstance  which  made  an  iiiii>ii-ssion  upon  my  mind,  (hat 
he  assumed  the  ]>ait  of  a  ])ublic  informer;  and,  in  llie  tirsi  instance, 
came  (o  the  tid-i  with   jiledgets  and   bandages.     He  was  scarcely 
off  the  table  when  a  witness  came  to  liis  credit.      It  is  the  first 
tim<'  that  1   saw   a  witness  taking  fright  at  his  own    credit,  and 
Bending  mo  a  person  to  justify  his  owjji  character. 


280  Ltt'E   OF    CDKRAN. 

"  Consider  bow  lie  has  fortified  it.  He  told  it  all  to  Oaprain 
Clibborn !  He  saw  liim  every  evening,  when  he  returned,  like  a 
bee,  with  his  thighs  loaded  with  evidence.  What  is  the  defence  ? 
that  the  witness  is  unworthy  of  belief  My  clients  say  their  lives 
ai-e  not  to  be  touched  by  such  a  man:  he  is  found  to  be  an  inforuier; 
he  marks  the  victim.  You  know  the  world  too  well,  nut  to  k:iow 
that  every  falsehood  is  reduced  to  a  certain  degree  of  malleability 
by  an  alloy  of  truth.  Such  stories  as  these  are  not  pure  and  simple 
falsehoods.  Look  at  your  Oateses,  youi-  Bedloes,  and  Dugdales ! 
I  am  disposed  to  believe,  shocking  as  it  is,  that  this  witness  bad 
the  heart,  when  lie  was  surrounded  by  the  little  progeny  of  my 
client ;  when  he  was  sitting  iu  the  mansion  in  which  he  v*as  hos- 
pitably entertained ;  when  he  saw  the  old  mother,  supported  by 
the  piety  of  her  son.  and  the  children  basking  in  the  parental 
fondness  of  the  father ;  that  he  saw  the  scene,  and  smiled  at  it; 
contemplated  the  havoc  he  was  to  make,  consigning  them  to  the 
storms  of  a  miserable  world,  without  having  an  anchorao-e  in  the 
kindness  of  a  father  ]^  Can  such  horror  exist,  and  not  waken 
the  rooted  vengeance  of  an  eternal  God  ?  But  it  cannot  reach 
this  man  beyond  ihe  grave ;  therefore  I  uphold  him  here.  I  can 
imagine  it,  gentlcn-.cn  ,  because  wlien  the  mind  becomes  destitute 
of  the  principles  of  morality  and  religion,  all  within  the  miserable 
being  is  left  a  black  and  desolated  waste,  never  cheered  by  the 
rays  of  tenderness  and  humanity;  when  the  belief  of  eternal 
justice  is  gone  from  the  soul  of  man,  horror  and  execution  mav 
net  up  their  abode ;  I  can  believe  that  the  witness  (with  what  view 
I  cannot  say ;  with  what  hope  I  cannot  conjecture ;  vou  may)  di(J 
meditate  the  consigning  of  these  two  men  to  death,  their  children 
to  beggary  and  reproach ;  abusing  the  hospitality  witli  which  he 
was  received,  that  he  might  afterwards  come  here  and  crown  his 

*  The  writer  of  this  is  assured,  by  a  gentleman  now  in  Dublin  and  who  is  free  from 
any  political  zeal  wliich  could  induce  him  to  invent  or  distort  a  fact,  that,  upon  hig 
dining  one  day  at  theJiouse  of  Henry  Sheares,  immediately  before  his  arrest,  he  obseivfj 
Armstrong,  who  was  one  of  the  guests,  taking  liis  entertainer's  little  children  upon 
his  knee,  and,  it  was  then  thouglit,  affectionately  caressing  them. — C.  [Armstrong 
strongly  denied  this  accusation.]— M. 


AKM6TKONO  S    EVIDKA'CK.  281 

woi'k,  having  first  obtained  the  little  spark  of  truth,  by  which  his 
mass  of  falsehood  was  to  be  put  into  animation. 

"  I  ha\G  talked  of  the  inconsistency  of  the  story.  Do  you 
believe  it,  gentlemen  ?  The  case  of  my  client  is,  that  the  witness 
is  peijured ;  and  you  are  appealed  to,  in  the  name  of  that  ever 
living  God  whom  you  revere,  but  whom  he  despiseth,  to  consider 
that  there  is  something  to  save  him  from  the  baseness  of  such  an 
accuser. 

"But  I  go  back  to  the  testimony.  I  may  wander  from  it ;  but 
it  is  ray  duty  to  stay  with  it.  Says  he,  'Byrne  makes  an  impor- 
tant application  :  I  was  not  accustomed  to  it ;  I  never  spoke  to 
him ;  and  yet  he,  with  whom  I  had  no  connexion,  introduces  me 
tc  Sheares.  This  is  a  true  brother.'  You  see,  gentlemen,  I  state 
this  truly:  he  never  talked  to  Byrne  about  politics;  how  could 
Byrne  know  his  principles?  by  inspiration  !  lie  was  to  know  tha 
edition  of  the  man  as  he  knew  the  edition  of  books.  '  Yon  may 
repose  all  confidence.'  I  ask  not  is  this  true;  but  I  say  it  can" be 
nothing  else  than  false.  I  do  not  ask  you  to  say  it  is  doubtful ;  it 
is  a  case  of  blood ;  of  life  or  death.  And  you  are  to  adil  to  tlie 
terrors  of  a  painful  death  tlie  desolation  of  a  family,  overwhelming 
the  aged  with  sorrow,  and  the  young  with  infamy!  Gentlemen, 
I  should  disdain  to  trifle  with  you;  I  am  piimingyoui'  minds  down 
to  one  point,  to  show  you  to  demonstration  that  nothing  can  save 
your  minds  from  the  evidence  of  such  peijury;  not  because  you 
may  think  it  false,  but  because  it  is  impossible  it  can  be  true.  I 
put  into  the  scales  of  justice  that  execrable  perjury;  and  I  jnit 
into  the  other  the  life,  the  fame,  the  fortune,  the  children  of  my 
client.  Let  not  the  balance  tremble  as  you  hold  it :  and,  as 
you  hold  it  now,  so  may  the  balance  of  eternal  justice  be  held 
for  you. 

"  But  is  it  upon  his  inconsistency  only  I  call  upon  you  to  reject 
him  ?  I  call  in  aid  the  evidence  of  his  own  kinsman,  Mr.  Sher- 
vington,  and  Mr.  Drought ;  tlie  evidence  of  Mr.  Bride,  and  Mr.  ( Jiay- 
don      Before  you  can  believe  Armstrong,  you  must  believe  that  all 


282  LIFE    OF   CUKKAN. 

tliese  are  i)ei jured.  What  are  his  temptations  to  perj  my  ?  the  hope 
of  bribery  and  reward  :— and  he  did  go  up  with  his  sheets  of  paper 
in  his  hand  ,  here  is  one  :  it  speaks  treason ;  here  is  another :  the 
accuL-ed  grows  paler;  here  is  a  third  :  it  opens  another  vein.  Had 
Shervington  any  temptation  of  that  kind  ?  No  :  let  not  the  honest 
and  genuine  soldier  lose  the  credit  of  it.  He  has  paid  a  great 
compliment  to  the  proud  integrity  of  the  King  his  master,  when  he 
did  venture,  at  a  time  like  this,  to  give  evidence,  '  I  would  not 
have  come  for  a  hundred  guineas!'*  I  could  not  refuse  the 
tfdusion  of  my  heart,  and  avoid  exclaiming,  '  May  the  blessings 
of  God  pour  upon  you;  and  may  you  never  want  a  hundred 
guineas !' 

"  There  is  another  circumstance.  I  think  I  saw  it  strike  your 
attention,  my  lords.  It  was  the  horrid  tale  of  the  three  peasants 
whom  he  met  upon  the  road :  they  had  no  connexion  with  the 
rebels.  If  they  had,  they  were  open  to  a  summaiy  proceeding.  He 
hangs  up  one,  shoots  a  second,  and  administers  torture  to  the  body 
of  the  third  in  order  to  make  him  give  evidence.  Why,  my  lords, 
did  you  feel  nothing  stir  within  you  ?  Our  adjudications  have 
condemned  the  application  of  torture  for  the  extraction  of  evidence. 
When  a  wild  and  furious  assassin  had  made  a  deadly  attempt  upon 
a  life  of  much  public  consequence,  it  was  proposed  to  put  him  to 
the  torture  in  order  to  discover  his  accomplices.  I  scai'cely  know 
whether  to  admire  most  the  awful  and  impressive  lesson  given  by 
Felton,  or  the  doctrine  stated  by  the  judges  of  the  land.  '  No,' 
said  he,  '  put  me  not  to  the  torture  ;  for,  in  the  extravagance  of  my 
pain,  I  may  be  brought  to  accuse  yourselves.'  What  say  the 
judges  ?• — •'  It  is  not  allowable,  by  the  law  and  constitution  of  Eng- 
land, to  intiict  torture  upon  any  man,  or  to  extract  evidence  under 
the  coercion  of  personal  sufferings.'     Apply  that  to  this  case  ;  if 


*  When  Mr.  Sliervington  was  asked,  upon  his  cross-examination  by  the  counsel  for  the 
Crown,  "if  iie  had  not  kindly  come  forward,  upon  hearing  that  Captain  Armstrong  was 
to  be  a  witness  against  the  Sheareses,"  he  answered,  "  No  :  I  was  summoned.  I  would 
not  have  appeared  for  a  hundred  guineas.'' — C, 


WRIITEN     EVIDENCE.  283 

the  unfortunate  man  did  himself  dread  the  application  of  such  an 
engine  for  the  extraction  of  evidence,  let  it  he  an  excuse  for  his 
degradation,  that  he  sought  to  avoid  the  pain  of  body,  by  public 
infamy.  But  there  is  another  observation  more  applicable  :  says 
]\Ir.  Drought,  'Had  you  no  feeling,  or  do  you  think  yuu  will  escape 
future  vengeance  V  '  Oh  !  sir,  I  thought  you  knew  ray  ideas  too 
well  to  talk  in  that  way.  Merciful  God !  do  you  think  it  is  upon 
the  evidence  of  such  a  man  that  }ou  ought  to  consign  a  fellow 
subject  to  death  ?  He  who  would  hang  up  a  miserable  peasant  to 
gratify  caprice,  could  laugh  at  I'emonstrance,  and  say,  'you  know 
my  ideas  of  futurity.'  If  he  thought  so  little  of  murdering  a  fellow 
creature  without  trial,  and  without  ceremony,  what  kind  of  com- 
punction can  he  feel  within  himself  when  you  are  made  the  instru- 
ments of  his  savage  barbarity  ?  He  kills  a  miserable  wretch, 
looking  perhai)s  for  bread  for  his  children,  and  who  falls  unaccused 
and  uncondemned.  What  compunction  can  he  feel  at  sacrificing 
other  victims,  when  he  considers  death  as  eternal  sleep,  and  the 
darkne^^s  of  annihilation  ?  These  victims  are  at  this  moment  led 
out  to  public  execution  ;  he  has  marked  them  for  the  grave;  he 
will  not  bewail  the  object  of  his  own  work  ;  they  are  passing 
through  the  vale  of  death,  while  he  is  dozing  over  the  expectancy 
of  mortal  annihilation. 

"  Gentlemen,  I  am  too  weak  to  follow  the  line  of  observation  1 
had  made ;  but  I  trust  I  am  warranted  in  saying,  that  if  you  weigh 
the  evidence,  the  balance  will  be  in  favour  of  the  prisoners. 

"  But  there  is  another  topic  or  two  to  which  I  must  solicit  your 
attention.  If  1  had  been  stronger,  in  a  common  case  I  would  not 
ha\e  said  so  much  ;  weak  as  I  am, here  I  must  say  more.  It  may 
be  said  that  the  parol  evidence  may  be  put  out  of  the  case  ;  that, 
attribute  the  conduct  of  Armstrong  to  folly,  or  passion,  or  wliatever 
else  you  please,  you  may  safely  i-epose  upon  the  written  evidence. 
This  calls  for  an  observation  or  two.  As  to  Mr.  Henr}'  Sheares, 
that  written  evidence,*  even  if  the  hand-writing  were  fully  proved, 

♦  This  writtea  evidence  was  an  address  to  the  United  Irishmen,  In  the  hand-writing  0/ 
John  Sheares,— 0, 


284  LIFE   OF   CUKRAN. 

does  not  apply  to  him  :  I  do  not  bay  it  was  not  admissible.  The 
writings  of  Sidney,  found  in  his  closet,  were  read  ;  justly  according 
to  some ;  but  I  do  not  wish  to  consider  that  now.  But  I  say  the 
evidence  of  Mr.  Dwyer  has  not  satisfactorily  established  the  hand- 
writing of  John.  I  do  not  say  it  is  not  proved  to  a  certain  extent, 
but  it  is  proved  in  the  very  slightest  manner  that  you  ever  smw 
paper  proved  ;  it  is  barely  evidence  to  go  to  you,  and  the  witness 
might  be  mistaken.  An  unpublished  writing  cannot  be  an  oveil 
act  of  treason  ;  so  it  is  laid  down  expressly  by  Hale  and  Foster. 
A  number  of  cases  have  occurred,  and  decisions  have  been  pro- 
nounced, asserting'  that  writings  are  not  overt  acts,  for  want  of 
publication  ;  but  . '  they  plainly  relate  to  an  overt  act  proved,  they 
may  be  left  to  the  jury  foi'  their  consideration.  But  here  it  has  no 
reference  to  the  overt  act  laid ;  it  could  not  have  been  intended 
for  publication  until  after  the  unfortunate  event  of  revolution  had 
taken  place,  and  therefore  it  could  not  be  designed  to  create 
insurrection.  Gentlemen,  I  am  not  counsel  for  Mr.  John  Sheares, 
but  I  would  be  guilty  of  cruelty  if  I  did  not  make  another  obser- 
vation. This  might  be  an  idle  composition,  or  the  translation  of 
idle  absurdity  from  the  papers  of  another  country  ;  the  manner  in 
which  it  was  found  leads  me  to  think  that  the  more  probable.  A 
writing  designed  for  such  an  event  as  charged  would  hardly  be 
left  in  a  wi-iting-box,  unlocked,  in  a  room  near  the  hall  door.  The 
manner  of  its  finding  also  shows  two  things;  that  Henry  Sheares 
knew  nothing  of  it,  for  he  had  an  opportunity  of  destroying  it,  as 
Alderman  Alexander  said  he  had  ;  and  further,  that  he  could  not 
have  imagined  his  brother  had  such  a  design  ;  and  it  is  impossible, 
if  the  paper  had  been  designed  for  such  purposes,  that  it  would 
not  be  communicated  to  him. 

"  There  is  a  point  to  which  I  will  beseech  the  attention  of  your 
Lordships.  I  know  your  humanity,  and  it  will  not  be  applied 
merely  because  I  am  exhausted  or  fatigued.  You  have  only  on;; 
witness  to  any  overt  act  of  treason.  There  is  no  decision  upon  tli« 
point  in  this  country.^'     Jackson's  case  was  the  first:  Lord  Cl..)n- 

*  This  is  not  con-eci:  it  was  the  unanimous  opinion  of  the  three  judges  of  the  Court  q' 


EVIDENCE    ON    TREASON.  285 

mel  made  an  allusion  to  the  point;  but  a  juiy  ougkt  i  ot  to  find 
guilty  upon  the  testimony  of  a  single  witness.  It  is  the  :)pinion  of 
Foster,  that  by  the  common  law,  one  witness,  if  believed,  was 
sufficient.  Lord  Coke's  opinion  is  that  two  were  necessary.  They 
are  great  names ;  no  man  looks  upon  the  works  of  Foster  witli 
more  veneration  than  myself,  and  I  would  not  compare  him  with 
the  depreciated  credit  of  Coke ;  I  would  rather  leave  Lord  Coke 
to  the  character  which  Foster  gives  him ;  that  he  was  one  of  the 
ablest  lawyers,  independent  of  some  particulars,  that  ever  existed 
in  England.  In  the  wild  extravagance,  heat,  and  cruel  reigns  of 
the  Tudors,  such  doctrines  of  treason  had  gone  abroad  as  drenched 
the  kingdom  with  blood.  By  the  construction  of  crown  lawyers 
and  the  shameful  complaisance  of  juries,  many  sacrifices  had  been 
made,  and  therefore  it  was  necessary  to  prune  away  these  excesses 
by  the  stat.  of  Edward  VL,  and  therefore  there  is  every  reason  to 
imagine,  from  the  history  of  the  times,  that  Lord  Coke  was  right  in 
saying,  that  not  by  new  statute,  but  by  the  common  law,  confirmed 
and  redeemed  by  declaratory  acts,  the  trials  were  regulated.  A 
law  of  Philip  and  Mary  was  afterwards  enacted;  some  think  it  was 
a  repeal  of  the  stat.  of  Edward  VL,  some  think  not.  I  mention 
this  diversity  of  opinions  with  this  view,  that  in  this  country,  upon 
a  new  point  of  that  kind,  the  weight  ol  criminal  prosecution  will 
turn  the  scale  in  favour  of  the  prisoner  ;  and  that  the  court  will  be 
of  opinion  that  the  stat.  1  'William  III.  did  not  enact  any  new 
tJiino-  unknown  to  tlie  common  law,  but  redeemed  it  from  abuse. 
What  was  the  state  of  England  ?  The  king  had  been  declaj-ed  to 
liave  abdicated  the  throne :  prosecutions,  temporising  juries,  and 
the  arbitrary  construction  of  judges,  condemned  to  the  scaffold 
those  who  were  to  protect  the  Crown ;  men  who  knew,  that,  after 
the  destruction  of  the  cottage,  the  palace  was  endangered.  It  was 
not,  then,  the  enaction  of  anything  new;  it  was  founded  in  the 
caution  of  the  times,  and  derived  from  the  maxims  of  the  consti- 

King's  Bench,  before  whn.n  Jackson  was  tried,  tliat  in  Ireland  two  witnesses  were  not 
necessary  in  cases  of  High  Treason.— See  Jackson's  Trial.— 0.     [It  Is  altered  now.— M.l 


286  LIFE   OF   CURllAN. 

tution.  I  know  tlie  peevishness  with  which  Burnet  ohserved  upon 
that  statute.  He  is  reprehended  in  a  modest  manner  by  Foster. 
But  what  says  Blackstone,  of  great  authority,  of  the  clearest  head 
and  the  profoundest  reading  ?  He  differs  from  Montesquieu,  the 
French  philosopher. 

" '  In  cases  of  treason  there  is  the  accused's  oath  of  allegiance 
to  counterpoise  the  information  of  a  single  witness ;  and  that  may, 
perhaps,  be  one  reason  why  the  law  requires  a  double  testimony 
to  convict  him :  though  the  principal  reason,  undoubtedly,  is  to 
secure  the  subject  from  being  sacrificed  to  fictitious  conspiracies, 
which  have  been  the  engines  of  profligate  and  crafty  politicians  in 
all  ages.'  * 

"  Gentlemen,  I  do  not  pretend  to  say  that  you  are  bound  by  an 
English  act  of  parliament.  You  may  condemn  upon  the  testimony 
of  a  single  witness.  You,  to  be  sure,  are  too  proud  to  listen  to  the 
Avisdom  of  an  English  law.  Illustrious  independents !  You  may 
murder  under  the  semblance  of  judicial  forlns,  because  you  are 
proud  of  your  blessed  independence !  You  pronounce  that  to  be 
legally  done  which  would  be  murder,  in  England,  because  you  are 
proud !  You  may  imbrue  your  hands  in  blood,  because  you  are 
too  proud  to  be  bound  by  a  foreign  act  of  parliament :  and  when 
you  are  to  look  for  what  is  to  save  you  from  the  abuse  of  arbitrary 
power,  you  will  not  avail  yourself  of  it,  because  it  is  a  foreign  act 
of  parliament !  Is  that  the  independence  of  an  Irish  jury  ?  Do  I 
see  the  heart  of  any  Englishman  move  when  I  say  to  him,  '  Thou 
servile  Briton,  you  cannot  condenm  upon  the  peijury  of  a  single 
witness,  because  you  are  held  in  the  tight  waistcoat  of  the  cogency 
of  an  act  of  parliament?  If  power  seeks  to  make  victims  by 
judicial  means,  an  act  of  parliament  would  save  you  from  the 
perjury  of  abominable  malice.  Talk  not  of  proud  slavery  to  law, 
but  lament  that  you  are  bound  by  the  integrity  and  irresistible 
strength  of  right  reason ;  and,  at  the  next  step,  bewail  that  tlie  all- 

*  4  Blackstone's  Commentaries,  868. 


TRIAL   OF    THE   Sftp:ARESES.  287 

powerful  Author  of  nature  has  bound  liimself  in  the  ilKisirious 
servitude  of  his  attributes,  which  prevent  him  thinking  wliat  is  not 
true,  or  doing  what  is  not  just.'  Go,  then,  and  enjoy  your  inde- 
pendence. At  the  other  side  of  the  water  your  verdict,  upon  tho 
testimony  of  a  single  witness,  would  be  murder.  But  here  you 
can  murder  without  reproach,  because  there  is  no  act  of  parlia- 
ment to  bind  you  to  the  ties  of  social  life,  and  save  the  accused 
from  the  breath  of  a  perjured  informer.  In  England  a  jury  could 
not  pronounce  a  conviction  upon  the  testimony  of  the  ^Jurest  man, 
if  he  stood  alone ;  and  yet  what  comparison  can  that  case  bear 
with  a  blighted  and  marred  informer,  where  eveiy  word  is  proved 
to  be  perjury,  and  every  word  turns  back  upon  his  soul  ? 

"  I  am  reasoning  fci  your  country  and  your  children,  to  the 
hour  of  your  dissolution :  let  me  not  reason  in  vain.  I  am  not 
playing  the  advocate :  you  know  I  am  not.  I  put  this  case  to  the 
bench :  the  stat.  7  W.  3  does  not  bind  this  country  by  its  legisla- 
tive cogency  ;  and  will  you  declare  positively,  and  without  doubt, 
that  it  is  common  law,  or  enacting  a  new  one  ?  Will  you  say  it 
has  no  weight  to  influence  the  conduct  of  a  jury  from  the  author- 
ity of  a  great  and  exalted  nation  ?  the  only  nation  in  Europe  wliere 
Liberty  has  seated  herself.  Do  not  imagine  that  the  man  who 
praises  Liberty  is  singing  an  idle  song :  for  a  moment  it  may  be 
the  song  of  a  bird  in  his  cage:  I  know  it  may.  But  you  are  now 
standing  upon  an  awful  isthmus,  a  little  neck  of  land,  where 
Liberty  has  found  a  seat.  Look  about  you — look  at  the  stale  of 
the  country — the  tribunals  that  dire  necessity  has  introduced. 
Look  at  this  dawm  of  law,  admitting  the  functions  of  a  jury.  1 
feel  a  comfort.  Methinks  I  see  the  venerable  foi-ms  of  Holt  and 
Hale  looking  down  upon  us,  attesting  its  countenance.  Is  it  your 
opinion  that  bloody  verdicts  are  necessary — that  blood  enough 
has  not  been  shed — that  the  bonds  of  society  are  not  to  be  drawn 
close  again,  nor  tlie  scattered  fragments  of  our  strength  bound 
together  to  make  them  of  force;  but  that  they  are  to  be  left  in 
that  scattered  state,  in  which  every  little  child  may  break  them  to 


288  LIFK   OF   CUERAN. 

pieces  ?  You  will  do  more  towards  tranquillizing  the  country  by 
a  verdict  of  mercy.  Guard  yourselves  against  the  sanguinai*}' 
excesses  of  prejudice  or  revenge ;  and,  though  you  think  there  is 
a  great  call  for  public  justice,  let  no  unmerited  victim  fall. 

"  Gentlemen,  I  have  tired  you.  I  durst  not  relax.  The  danger 
of  my  client  is  from  the  hectic  of  the  moment,  which  you  have 
fortitude,  I  trust,  to  withstand.  In  that  belief,  I  leave  him  to  you; 
and,  as  you  deal  justice  and  mercy,  so  may  you  find  it.  And  1 
hope  that  the  happy  compensation  of  an  honest  discharge  of  your 
duty  may  not  be  deferred  till  a  future  existence — which  this  wit- 
ness [Armstrong]  does  not  expect — but  that  you  may  sj^eedily 
enjoy  the  benefits  you  will  have  conferred  upon  your  country."* 

It  was  between  seven  and  eight  o'clock,  on  the  morning  of  the 
13th  of  July,  when  the  jury  retired  to  consider  their  verdict. 
After  the  delrberation  of  ;i  few  minutes,  they  returned  it,  finding 
both  the  prisoners  guilty.  As  soon  as  the  verdict  was  pronounced, 
the  unfortunate  brothers  clasped  each  other  in  their  arms.  They 
were  brought  up  for  judgment  at  three  o'clock  on  the  same  day 
upon  which  occasion,  they  both  addressed  the  court. 

Henry,  who  had  a  numerous  family,  was  proceeding  to  request 
a  short  respite ;  but,  when  he  came  to  mention  his  wife  and  chil- 
dren, he  was  so  overwhelmed  with  tears,  that  he  found  it  impossi- 
ble to  go  on.  His  brother  spoke  with  more  firmness,  and  at  more 
length.  He  began  by  strenuously  disavowing  the  sanguinary 
intentions  that  had  been  imputed  to  him  in  consequence  of  the 
unpublished  address  to  the  insurgents  which  had  been  found  in 
his  handwriting,  and  produced  in  evidence  against  him.  "The 
accusation,"  said  he,  "  of  which  I  speak,  while  I  linger  here  yet  a 
few  minutes,  is  '  that  of  holding  out  to  the  people  of  Ireland  a 

*  The  Prime-Sergeant  replied  for  the  Crown.  Henry  Sheares,  who  was  then  allowed  to 
say  a  few  words,  strongly  denied  all  knowledge  of  the  piper  found  in  his  desk,  and  asked 
was  it  likely  that,  having  the  dearest  sources  of  happiness  around  him,  he  should  sacrifice 
tliem  and  himself  by  leaving  such  a  document  in  an  open  writing- bci.x '.'  Lord  Carleton 
charged  the  jury,  the  two  other  judges  concurring,  and  the  verdict  was  returned  after  i; 
deliberation  of  seventeen  minutes. — M. 


JOHN    SHEARES*S    APPEAL.  289 

direction  to  give  no  quartei'  to  the  troops  fighting  for  it.-^  defeiifo.' 
I  cannot  only  acquit  my  soul  of  sudi  an  inti'iition,  l>ul  I  dei-Iare, 
in  the  presence  of  tliat  God  before  whom  1  must  shortly  appear, 
thai  the  favourite  doctrine  of  my  heart  was — that  no  human 
beirt'j  should  silver  death,  but  ivhere  absolute  necessity  required  it."' 
After  having  spoken  for  a  considerable  time  to  the  same 
effect,  he  proceeded.  "  Now,  my  lords,  1  have  no  favour  to  ask 
of  the  Court.  My  country  has  decided  that  I  am  guilty ;  and 
the  law  says  that  I  shall  sutler.  It  sees  that  T  am  ready  t<.> 
suffer.  But,  my  lords,  1  have  a  favour  to  request  of  the  Court 
that  does  not  relate  to  myself.  I  have  a  brother,  whom  I  have 
ever  loved  dearer  than  myself; — but  it  is  not  from  any  affec- 
tion for  him  alone  that  I  am  induced  to  make  the  request ; 
he  is  a  man,  and  therefore,  I  hope  prepared  to  die,  if  he  stood 
as  I  do — thougli  I  do  not  stand  unconnected ;  but  he  stands  more 
dearly  connected.  In  short,  my  lords,  to  spare  your  feelings 
and  my  own,  1  do  not  j)ray  that  I  should  not  die ;  but  that  the 
husband,  the  father,  the  brother,  and  the  son,  all  compiised  in  one 
person,  holding  these  relations,  dearer  in  life  to  him  tlian  any  man 
I  know  ;  for  such  a  man  I  do  not  pray  a  pardon,  for  that  is  not 
in  the  power  of  the  Court,  but  I  pray  a  respite  for  such  a  time  as 
the  Court,  in  its  liunuuiity  and  discretion,  sliall  think  proper. 
You  have  heard,  my  lords,  that  his  private  affairs  require  arrange- 
ment. I  have  a  fuither  room  for  asking  it.  If  immediately  both 
of  us  be  taken  off,  an  aged  and  reverend  mother,  a  dear  sister, 
and  the  most  affectionate  wife  that  ever  lived,  and  six  children 
will  be  left  without  protection  or  provision  of  any  kind.  When  I 
address  myself  to  your  lordships,  it  is  with  the  knowledge  you  will 
Iiave  of  all  the  sons  of  our  aged  mother  being  gone  :  two  p.erished 
in  the  service  of  the  king,  one  very  recently.  I  only  request,  that, 
disposing  of  me  with  wluit  swiftness  either  tiie  public  mind  or 
justice  requires,  a  respite  may  be  given  to  my  brother,  that  tlie 
•family  mav  acquire  strength  to  bear  it  all.  That  is  all  I  wish.  T 
shall   remember  it   to  my  last  breath;   ana  I  will   offer  up  my 

13 


290  LIFE   OF   CURRAN. 

prayers  for  you  to  that  Being  who  lias  endued  us  all  with  sensi- 
bility to  feel.     This  is  all  I  ask." 

To  this  aflPecting  appeal,  Lord  Carleton  replied :  "  In  the  awfid 
duty  imposed  on  me,  no  man  can  be  more  sensibly  affected  than  I 
am,  because  I  knew  the  very  valuable  and  respectable  father  and 
uiother  from  whom  you  are  both  descended.  I  knew  and  revered 
their  virtues.  One  of  them,  happily  for  himself,  is  now  no  more : 
the  other,  for  whom  I  have  the  highest  personal  respect,  probably, 
by  the  events  of  this  day,  may  be  hastened  into  futurity.  It  does 
not  rest  vvith  us,  after  the  conviction  which  has  taken  place,  to 
hold  out  mercy — that  is  for  another  place ;  and  I  am  afraid,  in 
the  present  situation  of  public  affairs,  it  will  be  difficult  to  grant 
even  that  indulgence  which  you,  John  Sheares,  so  pathetically 
request  for  your  brother.  With  respect  to  the  object  of  your 
soliciting  time  for  your  brother,  unfortunately  it  could  be  of  no 
use  ;  because,  by  the  attainder,  he  will  forfeit  all  his  property,  real 
and  personal :  nothing  to  be  settled  will  remain." 

His  lordship  then,  after  some  preliminary  observations,  pro- 
nounced sentence  of  death  upon  the  prisoners ;  and,  at  the  prayet 
of  the  attorney-general,  directed  that  it  should  be  executed  on  the 
succeeding  day.* 

♦  A  few  hours  before  his  execution,  Henry  Sheares  wrote  a  letter  to  Mr.  (afterwards  Sir 
Jonah)  Barrington,  a  facsimile  of  which  is  to  be  found  in  the  latter's  "  Historic  Anecdotes 
of  the  Legislative  Union  between  Great  Britain  and  Ireland."  Barrington  says  :  "  There 
never  was  a  more  affecting  picture  of  a  feeling,  agonized  mind,  at  the  approach  of  a 
violent  death,  than  is  this  facsimile.  Had  but  three  hours  been  granted  for  the  unhappy 
culprit's  preparation  for  his  fate,  he  wo- id  have  been  respited.  Lord  Clare  was  disposed 
to  act  with  great  humanity  towards  this  Amiable,  but  misguided  man,  having  discovered 
that  he  was  utterly  ignorant  of  the  sanguinary  proclamation,  which  was  found  in  his  secre- 
taire—he  had  never  seen  ii."  In  Henry  Sheares'  letter,  he  besought  Barrington  to  fly  to 
the  Lord  Chancellor—"  Ah,  save  a  man  whose  fate  will  kill  his  family  !"— to  t«ll  the  Chan- 
cellor that  be  would  pray  for  him  forever,  "  and  that  the  Government  shall  ever  find  me 
toAai  <Af^  iciA/t,"— that  the  papers  found  in  his  office  he  knew  nothing  of— that  he  had 
been  duped,  misled,  deceived— that  he  never  was  for  violence— tliat  his  whole  happiness 
was  centred  in  his  family,  "  with  them  1  will  go  to  America,  if  the  Government  will  allow 
me  ;  or  that  I  will  stay  here,  and  he  the  most  zealous  friend  they  have,''  and  would  be 
under  any  conditions  the  Government  might  choose  to  impose  on  him,  if  they  would  but 
restore  him  to  his  family.    This  letter  is  dated  8  o'clock,  but  did  not  reach  Barricgton 


JOHN    SHEARES'S    FAREWELL.  '291 

The  following  is  a  copy  of  Mr.  John  Shcares'  farewell  letter  to 
his  fan  ily.     It  is  addressed  to  his  sister,  to  whom  he  had  been 
most  tenderly  attached.     It  may  not  have  much  literary  merit 
"  l>iit  nature  is  tliere,  which  is  the  greatest  beauty." 

"  KiLMAiNHAM  PRISON. — Wednesday  night. 

"  The  troublesome  scene  of  life  is  nearly  closed ;  and  the  liand 
that  now  traces  these  lines,  in  a  short  time  will  be  no  longer  capa- 
oie  of  eommunicating  to  a  beloved  family  the  sentiments  of  his 
h©£iri. 

"It  is  now  eleven  o'clock,  and  I  have  only  time  to  address  my 
beloved  Julia  in  a  short,  eternal  farewell.  Thou  sacred  Power! — 
whatever  be  thy  name  and  nature — who  has  created  us  tlie  frail 
and  imperfect  creatures  that  we  are,  hear  tlie  ardent  pi-ayer  of  one 
now  on  the  eve  of  a  most  awful  cliange.  If  thy  Divine  Providence 
can  be  affected  by  mortal  supplication,  liear  and  grant,  I  most 
humbly  beseech  thee,  the  last  wishes  of  a  heart  that  has  ever 
adored  thy  greatness  and  thy  goodness.  Let  peace  and  happiness 
once  more  visit  the  bosom  of  my  beloved  family.  Let  a  mild 
grief  succeed  the  miseries  they  have  endured;  and,  when  an  aft'ec- 
tionate  tear  is  generously  shed  over  the  dust  of  him  who  caused 
their  misfortunes,  let  all  their  ensuing  days  glide  on  in  union  and 
domestic  harmony.  Enlighten  my  beloved  brother :  to  him  and 
his  invaluable  wife  grant  the  undisturbed  enjoyment  of  their 
mutual  love ;  and,  as  they  advance,  let  their  attachment  increase. 
Let  my  Julia,  my  feeling,  my  too  feeling  Julia,  experience  that 

until  11  o'cloclc  of  tho  morning  after  tiie  trial.  He  hastened  to  Loid  Clare,  and  showed 
him  the  letter.  It  moved  him ;  and  he  exclaimed,  naturally  enough,  "  What  a  coward  he 
is  !"  He  said  it  was  impossible  to  save  John  Sheares,  and  the  doubt  was  how  the  Viceroy 
could  draw  tlie  distinction  hetw';en  them.  At  last,  anticipating  that  Henry  would  muke 
any  disclosures  to  save  his  life,  he  desired  Rarrlngton  to  go  to  the  prison,  see  Hiiiry 
Sheares,  and  put  the  question  to  him.  "  I  lost  no  time,"  says  Harrington,  "  but  I  found, 
or,  my  arrival,  that  orders  had  been  given,  that  nobody  should  be  admitted  without  a 
written  permission.  I  returned  to  the  Castle— they  were  all  In  c<.uncil.  Cooke  [the 
Secretary]  was  not  In  his  ofBce— I  was  delayed.  At  length  the  Secretary  returned— gave 
me  the  order.  I  hastened  to  Newgate,  and  arrived  at  the  very  moment  the  executions! 
was  holding  up  the  head  of  my  friend,  saying :  '  ITerc  w  t/u^  he<id  of  a  traitor/"'-  M, 


292  LIFE   OF   CURRAN. 

(•onsolation  wliich  she  has  so  often  imparted  to  others;  let  her  soul 

repose  at  lengtli  in  the  consummation  of  all  the  wishes  of  lier 

excellent  heart ;  let  her  taste  that  happiness  her  virtues  have  so 

well  merited.     For  my  other  sisters  provide  those  comforts  their 

situation  requires.     To  my  mother — 0,  Eternal  Power  !  what  gift 

shall  I  wish  for  this  matchless  parent  ?     Restore  her  to  that  peace 

which  I  have  unfortunately  torn  from  her :  let  her  forget  me  in 

the  ceaseless  aftections  of  my  sisters,  and  in  their  prosperity ;  let 

her  taste  that  happiness  which  is  best  suited  to  her  affectionate 

heart ;  and,  when  at  length  she  is  called  home,  let  her  find,  in 

everlasting  bliss,  the  due  reward  of  a  life  of  sufiering  virtue. 

"Adieu,  my  dear  Julia!     My  light  is  just  out.     The  approach 

of  darkjiess  is  like  that  of  death,  since  both  alike  require  me  to 

say  farewell !  farewell,  for  ever !     O,  my  dear  family,  farewell ! — 

Farewell,  for  ever ! 

"J.  S." 

In  the  cemetery  of  the  Church  of  St.  Michan's,  in  Dublin,  there 
are  vaults  for  the  reception  of  the  dead,  of  which  the  atmosphere 
has  the  peculiar  quality  of  protracting  for  many  years  the  process 
of  animal  decay.  It  is  not  unusual  to  see  there  the  coffins  crum- 
bling away  from  around  what  they  were  intended  for  ever  to  con- 
ceal, and  thus  giving  up  once  more  to  human  view  their  contents, 
still  pertinaciously  resisting  the  influence  of  time.  In  this  place 
the  unfortunate  brothers  were  deposited  ;*  and  in  this  state  of 
undesigned  disinterment  their  remains  may  be  seen  to  this  day, 
the  heads  dissevered  from  the  trunks,  and  "the  hand  that  once 
traced  those  lines"  not  yet  mouldered  into  dust.* 


*  They  were  hanged  and  beheaded  in  the  front  of  Newgate.  Davis  says  of  John 
Sheares  :  "  He  died  (as  did  Henry,  too,  wtien  he  really  came  to  his  doom),  phicidly  and 
well."  On  the  other  hand,  Harrington  records  tliat "  They  came  hand  in  hand  to  the 
scaffold  :  Henry  died  without  firmness — the  brother  met  his  death  with  sufficient  forti- 
tude."—M. 

t  This  reproach  is  out  of  date  in  1S55.  In  consequence  of  what  Mr.  W.  H.  Curran 
stated  on  this  subject,  In  these  pages  and  elsewhere,  the  mortal  remains  of  the  Shearesej 
were  put  ou'  of  public  view,  into  substantial  oak  coffins. — M. 


TRIALS    OF   h'oANNj    BYRNE,    ANP    BOND.  2i)o 


CHAl^TER  XII. 

Trials  of  M'Cann,  Byrne,  and  Oliver  Bond — Reynolds  the  informer — Lord  Edward  Fin- 
gerald — His  attainder — !Mr.  Curran's  conduct  upon  the  State  Trials — Lord  Kilwardon's 
friendship — Lines  addressed  by  Mr.  Curran  to  Lady  Charlotte  Rawdon — Thco)aM 
Wolfe  Tone — Uis  trial  and  death. 

The  trial  of  the  Sheareses  was  followed  by  tbat  of  John  M'Cann 
of  the  lYth  of  July,  1798,  of  Williaiu  Michael  Byrne  on  the  20th, 
and -Oliver  Bond  on  the  23d  of  the  same  month.  These  were 
among  the  persons  who  had  been  at  the  head  of  the  United  Irishmen 
in  the  metropolis,  and  whom  the  Government,  upon  information 
communicated  by  one  of  their  associates,  hatl  arrested  in  the  pre- 
ceding March.  Mr.  Curran  acted  as  leading  counsel  for  them  all ; 
but  his  speeches  in  the  two  former  cases  having  been  entirely 
suppressed,*  the  present  account  must  be  confined  to  his  defence 
of  Bond. 

[Oliver  Bond  was  an  eminent  woollen-diaper,  residing  in  Bridge 
Street,  Dublin,  and  is  described  by  Davis  as  "a  shrewd,  kind  iikiii  " 
He  was  indicted  for  hio-h  treason, — that  is  for  havini;  administered 
unlawful  oaths,  on  the  20th  of  Mav,  lv98,  to  Thomas  lievnolds 
and  others,  for  conspiring  to  cause  a  rebellion  t<3  overthrow  (In- 
King's  government,  for  collecting  money  to  fiii'nish  arms  and 
ammunition -for  that  purpose,  for  aiding  and  causing  ReynoMs  to 
bo  a  rebel  Colonel  in  the  county  of  Kildare,  and  for  aiding  and 
assisting  the  French  to  invade  Ireland,  (fee. 

The  principal  witness,  Thomas  Reynolds,  of  Kilkea  Csistle, 
"swore  hard  "  but  many  persons  testified  that  he  was  not  to  be 
believed  upon  his  oath.      In  fa<t,  he  was  steeped  to  the  eyes  in 

•  M'Caun  and  Byrne  were  convicted  and  execuled.-rO. 


204  LITE   OF   CUKRAN. 

ci'iiue.  He  stole  jewels,  and  silks  from  liis  mother, — swindled  a 
servant  out  of  a  bond  of  iEl75, — and  was  accused,  by  liis  own 
brother-in-law,  under  circumstances  of  the  strongest  suspicion,  of 
having  poisoned  his  wife's  mother,  for  the  sake  of  robbing  her  of 
iE300.  His  infamy,  as  will  be  seen  by  the  extracts  from  his  evi- 
dence, was  proven,  out  of  his  own  lips.*] 

This  was  considered  by  the  bar  as  the  most  powerful  of  his 
efforts  upon  the  state  trials  of  this  year.  Mr.  Curran  has  been 
represented,  by  the  detractors  of  his  reputation,  as  surrounded, 
during  those  trials,  by  an  admiring  popidace,  whose  passions, 
instead  of  endeavouring  to  control,  he  was  r&ther  anxious  to  exas- 
perate, by  presenting  them  with  exaggerated  pictures  of  the 
calamities  of  the  times.  It  is  not  true  that  his  audiences  were  of 
this  description  :  one  of  the  most  honourable  circumstances  of  his 
life  is  the  fact  that  they  were  of  a  far  different  kind.  He  was 
encompassed,  indeed,  by  men  whose  j^assions  were  sufficiently 
inflamed,  but  they  wei'e  passions  which  it  required  no  ordinary 
coui'age  in  the  advocate  to  brave,  and  to  despise.  In  his  defence 
of  Bond  he  was  repeatedly  interrupted,  not  by  bursts  of  applause, 
but  by  violence  and  menace ;  with  what  effect  will  appear  in  the 
course  of  the  following  passages. 

"  Gentlemen,  much  pains  has  been  taken  to  warm  you,  and  tlien 
you  are  intreated  to  be  cool ;  when  the  fire  has  been  kindled,  it 
has  been  spoken  to,  and  pra3'ed  to  be  extinguished.  \^'hat  is 
that?"!  [Here  Mr.  Curran  was  again  interrupted  by  the  tumult 
of  the  auditors;  it  was  the  third  time  that  he  had  been  obliged 

*  Reynolds's  family  did  not  like  to  i-est  under  the  imputation  of  his  having  been  an 
informer  and  perjurer.  His  son,  some  years  since,  published  an  apology  for  his  life.  It 
failed  to  clear  him.  Reynolds  was  rewarded  with  two  consular  appointments,  and,  for 
some  time  was  postmaster  of  Lisbon  during  the  Peninsular  war.  In  all  he  received 
£45,000  for  swearing  men's  lives  away,  and  one  of  his  family  still  I'eoeives  the  pension 
settled  on  him,  literally  as  the  price  of  blood.— M. 

t  This  question  was  occasioned  by  a  clash  of  arms  among  the  military  that  thronged 
the  court;  some  of  those  who  wei-e  nearest  to  the  advocate  appeared,  from  their  looks 
and  gestures,  about  to  offer  him  personal  violence,  upon  which,  fixing  his  eye  sternly  on 
them,  he  exclaimed,  "  You  may  assassinate,  but  you  shall  not  intimidate  me."— C. 


TRIALS   OF  m'oAIJN,   BYRNE,   AND  BOND.  205 

to  sit  down :  on  rising-  he  continued,]  "  I  have  very  little,  scarcely 
any  hope  of  being  able  to  discharge  my  duty  to  my  unfortunate 
client, — perhaps  most  unfortunate  in  having  me  for  his  advocate. 
I  know  not  whether  to  impute  these  inhuman  interruptions  to 
mere  accident ;  but  I  greatly  fear  they  have  been  excited  by  pre- 
judice." 

[The  Court  said  they  would  punish  any  persun  who  dared  to 
interrupt  the  counsel  for  the  prisoner.  "Pray,  Mr.  Curran,  pro- 
ceed on  stating  your  ease ;  we  will  take  care,  with  the  blessing  of 
God,  that  you  shall  not  be  interrupted."] 

"You  have  been  cautioned,  gentlemen,  against  prejudice.  I  also 
urge  the  caution,  and  not  with  less  sincerity  :  but  what  is  the  pre- 
judice against  which  I  would  have  you  armed  ?  I  will  tell  you  : 
it  is  that  j^re-otx'upation  of  mind  that  tries  the  accused  before  he 
is  judicially  heard ;  that  draws  those  conclusions  from  passion 
.vhich  should  be  founded  on  proof,  and  that  sutlers  the  temper  of 
ihe  mind  to  be  dissolved  and  debased  in  the  heat  of  the  season. 
It  is  not  against  the  senseless  clamour  of  the  crowd,  feeling  impa- 
tient that  the  idle  discussion  of  facts  delays  the  execution,  that  I 
warn  you.  No :  you  are  too  proud,  too  humane,  to  hasten  the 
holiday  of  blood.  It  is  not  against  any  such  disgraceful  feelings 
that  I  warn  you.  I  wish  to  recall  your  recollections  to  your  own 
minds,  to  guard  you  against  the  prejudice  of  elevated  and  honest 
inderstanding,  against  the  j)rejudice  of  vour  virtues. 

"It  has  been  insinuated,  and  with  artful  applications  to  your 
feelings  of  national  independence,  that  I  have  advanced,  on  a 
former  occasion,  the  doctrine  that  you  should  be  bound  in  your 
decisions  by  an  Englisli  act  of  parliament,  the  statute  of  William 
III.  Eoject  the  unfounded  accusation;  nor  licli<"V(^  that  1  a>s;iil 
your  independence,  because  I  instruct  your  judgment  and  excite 
your  justice.  No:  the  statute  of  William  111.  does  not  bind  you  ; 
but  it  instructs  you  upon  a  point  which  before  was  enveloped  in 
doubt.  The  morality  and  wisdom  of  Confucius,  of  Plato,  of  Socra- 
tes, or  of  Tully  ioes  not  bind  you,  but  it  ma\-  elevate  and  illu- 


296  LIFE    OF    CURRAN. 

niinate  you ;  and  in  the  same  way  have  British  acts  of  pai'h'ament 
reclaimed  you  from  barbarism.  By  the  statute  of  William  III. 
two  witnesses  are  necessary,  in  cases  of  high  treason,  to  a  just  and 
equal  trial  between  the  Sovereign  and  the  subject;  and  Sir  William 
JMackstone,  one  of  the  wisest  and  best  authorities  on  the  laws  of 
England,  states  two  witnesses  to  be  but  a  necessary  defence  of  the 
subject  against  the  profligacy  of  ministers.  In  this  opinion  he 
fortifies  himself  with  that  of  Baron  Montesquieu,  who  says,  that, 
where  one  witness  is  sufficient  to  decide  between  the  subject  and 
the  state,  the  consequences  are  fatal  to  libei'ty;  and  a  people  so 
cii'cumstanced  cannot  long  maintain  their  independence.  The 
oath  of  allegiance,  which  every  subject  is  supj^osed  to  have  taken, 
stands  upon  the  part  of  the  accused  against  the  oath  of  his  accuser; 
and  no  principle  can  be  more  wise  or  just  than  that  a  thii-d  oath 
is  necessary  to  turn  the  balance.  Neither  does  this  pi-inciple 
merely  apply  to  the  evidence  of  a  common  and  impeached  informei-, 
such  as  you  have  heard  this  day,  but  to  that  of  any  one  witness 
however  high  and  respectable  his  character." 

The  informer  in  question  was  Thomas  Reynolds,*  a  name  that 

*  Reynolds  was  a  silk-meixei-  of  Dublin,  who  had  taken  a  vei-y  active  part  in  the  con- 
si>iracy.  He  was,  in  1797,  a  colonel  of  the  United  Irishmen,  afterwards  trea.'urer  and 
representative  of  a  county,  and  finally  a  delegate  for  the  Province  of  Leinster.  As  the 
time  of  the  general  insurrection  approached,  either  remorse,  or  the  hope  of  reward 
induced  him  to  apprise  the  Government  of  the  danger.  Having  previously  settled  his 
terms  (500  guineas  in  hand,  and  personal  indemnity)  through  Mr.  Cope,  a  Dublin  Mer- 
chant, he  gave  information  of  an  intended  meeting  of  the  Leinster  delegates  at  Mr. 
Bond's  house,  upon  which  those  persons,  among  whom  were  M'Cann  and  Byrne,  wero 
arrested  in  the  month  of  March.  The  evidence  of  Reynolds,  when  connected  with  tlni 
papers  that  were  seized,  was  so  conclusive  against  the  three  who  were  tried,  that  no  line 
of  defence  remained  but  to  impeach  his  testimony.  The  following  e,\tracts  from  Mr. 
Curran's  rro.-s-examination  of  him  will  sliow  the  manner  in  which  this  waj  attempted. 

THOM.AS   REYNOLDS   CKOSS-EXAMINED  BY    MR.  CUKRAN". 

Q.  You  ta.lked  of  yourself  as  a  married  man  ;  who  was  your  wife  ? 

A.  Her  name  was  Witherington. 

U.  Whose  daughter  ? 

A.  The  daughter  of  Catherine  and  William  Witherlngtc  »,  of  Grafton-Btrect. 

Q.  She  has  brothers  and  sisters? 

A-  One  sister  an(i  ^W9  brothers. 


REYNOLDS,    THE    INFORMER.  297 


will  be  long  remembered  in  Ireland,  and  of  which  the  celebrity  has 
been  extended  to  England,  by  some  late  discussions  of  his  charac- 
ter in  the  British  Parliament.      This  man  had  been  the  principal 


Q.  How  long  ai-e  you  luarried? 

A.  I  was  married  upon  tlie  25th  of  Mar«h,  1794. 

Q.  You  were  young  when  your  father  died? 

A.  I  was  about  sixteen  years  of  age. 

Q.  I  think  your  mother  carried  on  the  business  after  his  death  ? 

A.  Sh;  did. 

Q.  Do  you  recollect  at  that  time  whether,  upon  any  occasion,  you  were  charged,  per- 
hai)3  erroneously,  with  having  taken  any  of  her  money? 

A.  No,  sir,  I  do  not  recollect  having  heard  any  such  charge. 

Q.  You  have  sisters? 

A.  I  have,  and  had  sisters, 

Q.  Some  of  them  were  living  at  the  time  of  your  father's  death  ? 

A.  All  that  are  now  living  were  :  there  were  more  but  they  died. 

Q.  1)0  you  recollect  having  had  any  charge  made  of  stealing  trinkets  or  any  thing 
valuable  belonging  to  those  sisters  ? 

A.  Never.  I  never  was  charged  with  taking  any  thing  valuable  belonging  to  any  of  my 
9ist«fs. 

Q.  Were  you  ever  charged  with  having  procured  a  skeleton  key  to  open  a  lock  belong- 
ing to  your  mother? 

A.  1  was. 

Q.  I  do  not  ask  you  whether  the  charge  were  true  or  not ;  but  you  say  there  was  a  charge 
of  that  kind? 

A.  I  say  I  was  told  my  mother  said  so. 

Q.  She  did  not  believe  it  1  suppose? 

A.  She  did  not  say  anything  she  did  not  believe. 

Q.  And  she  said  it? 

A.  I  heard  so  ;  and  I  have  no  reason  to  doubt  it. 

Q.  It  was  to  open  a  drawer? 

A.  No  :  it  was  to  open  an  iron  chest. 

Q.  Where  there  were  knives  and  forks  kept  ? 

A.  It  is  not  usual  to  keep  such  things  there.  I  believe  papers  were  kept  there.  Mr. 
Warren  was  my  mother's  partner :  he  kept  her  in  ignorance,  and  did  not  supply  her 
V  ith  iftoney. 

Q.  Do  you  not  believe  that  your  mother  made  this  charge  ? 

A.  I  believe  she  thought  it  at  the  time.  She  was  a  woman  of  truth  :  tl  migli,  at  times 
extremely  passionate.  I  wish  to  say  this  :— You  ask  me  whether  I  ever  ivas  accused  of 
stealing  money,  or  other  valuables  or  trinkets,  from  my  sisters:  I  was  not;  but  I  was 
accused  of  stealing  my  mother's  trinkets.    I  was  then  about  sixteen  years  of  age. 

Q.  During  the  partnership  between  Mr.  Warren  and  your  mother,  do  you  recollect  anjf 
thing  about  a  piece  of  lutstring? 
A.  1  do  perfectly  well. 
^    Was  any  charge  made  o'' stealing  I  at? 


298  LIFE   OF   CUKRAN. 

witness  foi  the  Crown  upon  the  trial  of  M'Cann  and  Byrne ,  and 
it  is  not  improbable  that  a  tenderness  for  his  reputation  had  >cca- 
sioned  the  suppression  of  Mr.  Curran's  defences  in  those  cases. 

A.  The  very  same  charge.  I  was  charged  with  stealing  the  lutstring  to  give  it  to  a 
girl,  and  that  I  also  took  my  mother's  jewels  for  the  same  pui-pose. 

Q.  Then  the  charge  consisted  of  two  parts — the  taking,  and  the  manner  in  which  they 
were  given  away  ? 

A.  If  you  will  have  it  so. 

Q.  I  am  not  asking  j'ou  whether  you  committed  any  facts  of  this  kind  or  not,  but 
whether  the  charges  were  made  ? 

A.  I  tell  you  the  charges  were  made ;  and  I  took  the  things. 

Q.  Then  you  committed  the  theft ;  and  you  were  charged  with  the  stealing? 

A.  Both  of  the  facts  were  true. 

Q.  I  did  not  ask  you  as  to  the  skeleton  key? 

A.  That  charge  was  untrue. 

Q.  It  did  not  fit  the  lock? 

A.  I  had  no  such  key ;  the  charge  was  unfounded  :  the  others  were  true. 

Q.  How  long  is  Mrs.  Witherington,  your  mother-in-law,  dead? 

A.  Twelve  months,  last  April. 

Q.  Where  did  she  die? 

A.  In  Ash-street :  a  part  of  the  house  was  my  office,  and  connected  with  the  bouse. 

Q.  How  long  did  slie  live  there? 

A.  About  ten  months. 

Q.  Do  you  recollect  what  the  good  old  lady  died  of? 

A.  I  do  not  know ;  but  heard  it  was  a  mortification  in  her  bowels ;  she  was  complaining 
Oadlj  for  some  days. 

Q.  Had  there  been  any  medicine  brought  to  her? 

A.  I  recollect  perfectly  well,  after  she  was  ill,  medicine  was  brought  her. 

Q.  By  whom  ? 

A.  By  me. 

Q.  Are  you  a  physician? 

A.  No  :  but  I  will  tell  you.  A  Mr.  Fitzgerald,  a  relation  of  our  family,  who  had  been 
an  apothecary,  and  quitted  business,  left  me  a  box  of  medicines,  containing  castor  oil, 
cream  of  tartar,  rhubarb,  tartar  emetic,  and  such  things.  I  had  5een  subject  to  a  pain 
in  my  stomach,  for  which  he  gave  me  a  quantity  of  powders  in  small  papers,  which  I 
kept  for  use,  and  found  great  relief  from  :  they  saved  my  life.  I  asied  Mrs.  Reynolds  for 
one  of  these  papers  to  give  Mrs.  Witherington,  and  it  was  given  to  her. 

Q.  It  did  not  save  her  life  ? 

A.  No,  sir ;  and  I  am  sorry  for  it. 

Q.  You  paid  her  a  sum  of  money? 

A.  I  did. 

Q.  llow  much  ? 

A.  £800. 

Q.  How  long  before  her  death  ? 

A.  About  a  fortnight  or  three  weeks :  I  got  her  receipt,  aud  ma4e  my  clerk  account  for 
:t  in  my  books. 


CHAKACTEE    OB'   KEiTNOLDS.  299 

The  following  description   of  hi  in  by  Mr.  Curran,  in  Bond's  case, 
has  been  omitted  in  the  ccmmon  report : 

"  I  know  that  Eeynolds  has  laboured  to  establish  a  connection 
between  the  prisoner  and  the  meeting  held  at  his  house;  but  how 
does  he  manage?  he  brings  forward  asserted  conversations  with 
persons  who  cannot  confront  him — with  M'Cann,  Avhom  he  haa 
sent  to  the  grave,  and  with  Lord  Edward  Fitzgerald,  whose  prema- 
ture death  leaves  his  guilt  a  matter  upon  which  justice  dares  not 
to  pronounce.  He  has  never  told  you  that  he  has  spoken  to  any 
of  these  in  the  presence  of  the  prisoner.  Are  you  then  prepared, 
in  a  case  of  hfe  and  death,  of  honor  and  of  infamy,  to  credit  a  vile 
informer,  the  perjurer  of  an  hundred  oaths — a  wretch  whom  pride, 
honour,  or  religion  could  not  bind  ?  The  forsaken  pi'ostitute  of 
every  vice  calls  upon  you,  with  one  breath,  to  blast  the  memory 
of  the  dead,  and  to  blight  the  character  of  the  living.  l)o  you 
think  Reynolds  to  be  a  villain  ?  It  is  true  he  dresses  like  a  gen- 
tleman ;  and  the  confident  expression  of  his  countenance,  and  the 
tones  of  his  voice,  savour  strong  of  growing  authority.  He 
measures  his  value  by  the  coffins  of  his  victims;  and,  in  the  field 
of  evidence,  appreciates  his  fame  as  the  Indian  wari'iur  does  in 
tight — by  the  number  of  scalps  willi  which  he  can  swell  his  tri- 
umphs. He  calls  upon  you,  by  the  solemn  league  of  eternal 
justice,  to  accredit  the  purit}-  of  a  conscience  washed  in  his  own 

Q.  Were  you  ever  charged  with  stealinj;  that  inoiiey  ? 

A.  I  never  heard  tliat  suc-h  a  charge  was  made  :  none  of  the  family  ever  spoke  of  it  to 
my  face. 

Q.  Captain  Witherijiglou  is  the  sou  of  your  luotlier-in-law  ? 

A.   He  is. 

Q.  Did  he  malie  that  charge  ? 

A.  Not  to  myself.  I  will  mention  a  circumstance  ;  she  had  .1  bond,  and  gave  it  to  Mr. 
Jones  to  purchase  a  commission  :  he  said  the  money  could  not  be  got  ;  and  the  .frWO  was 
asked  to  purchase  the  commission  ;  and  I  always  thought  that  her  son,  Edward  Wither- 
ingtOQ  got  that  money.      She  died  suddenly,  and  had  not  made  a  will. 

Q.  She  died  suddenly  ? 

A.  She  died  unexpectedly. 

Q.  She  died  in  forty-eight  hours  after  taking  the  powder,  which  you  gave  to  cui'elier  f 

A.  She  took  the  paper   n  Friday  e\'eDing,  and  died  on  Sunday  morning. 


300  LIFE   OF   CUERAN. 

atrocities.  He  Las  promised  and  betrayed — he  has  sworn  and 
forsworn ;  and,  whetlier  his  soul  shall  go  to  heaven  or  to  hell,  he 
seems  altogether  indifferent,  for  he  tells  you  that  he  has  estab- 
lished an  interest  in  both.  He  has  told  you  that  he  has  pledged 
himself  to  treason  and  to  allegiance,  and  that  both  oaths  has  he 
contemned  and  broken.*  At  this  time,  when  reason  is  affrighted 
from  her  seat,  and  giddy  prejudice  takes  the  reins — when  the 
wheels  of  society  are  set  in  conflagration  by  the  rapidity  of  their 
own  motion — at  such  a  time  does  he  call  upon  a  jury  to  credit  a 
testimony  blasted  by  his  own  accusation.  Vile,  however,  as  this 
execrable  informer  must  feel  himself,  history,  alas !  holds  out  too 
much  encoui'agement  to  his  hopes ;  for,  however  base,  and  however 
perjured,  I  recollect  few  instances,  in  cases  between  the  subject 
aiid   the   crown,  where  informers  liave  not  cut  keen,    and   rode 


*  Tlie  following  is  the  list  of  Reynolds'  oaths : 

Q.  (By  Mr.  Cunan).  Can  yoU  just  tott  up  the  different  oaths  that  you  took  upon  either 
side? 

A.  I  will  give  the  particulars. 

Q.  No,  you  may  mention  the  gross. 

A.  No ;  I  will  mention  the  particulars.  I  took  an  oath  of  secrecy  in  the  county  meet- 
ing— an  oath  to  my  captains,  as  colonel.  After  this  I  took  an  oath,  it  has  been  said — I  do 
not  deny  it,  nor  do  I  say  I  took  it,  I  was  so  alarmed ;  but  I  would  have  taken  one  if 
required — when  the  United  Irishmen  were  designing  to  kill  me,  I  took  an  oath  before  a 
county  member,  that  I  had  not  betrayed  the  meeting  at  Bond's.*  After  this  I  took  an 
oath  of  allegiance. 

Q.  Had  you  ever  taken  an  oath  of  allegiance  before  ? 

A.  After  this  I  took  an  oath  before  the  privy  council.  I  took  two,  at  different  times, 
upon  giving  information  respecting  these  trials.  I  have  taken  three  since,  one  upon  each 
of  the  trials ;  and,  before  I  took  any  of  them,  I  had  taken  the  oath  of  allegiance. 

*  Upon  oue  occasion  Reynolds  saved  hiniflelf  from  the  vengeaiic*  of  those  whom  he  hsd  betrayed,  in  a  wiiy 
that  was  more  creditjible  to  his  presence  of  mind.  Before  lie  had  yet  publicly  declared  his  infidelity  to  the  cause 
of  the  United  Irishmen,  as  one  of  Iheir  leaders,  Pamiiel  Neilson,  was  passing  at  the  hour  of  midnight  ihro-jgh  the. 
streets  of  Dublin,  he  suddenly  encountered  Reynolds,  standing  alone  and  unarmed.  Neilson,  who  was  aji  athletic 
man.  and  armed,  rushed  upon  him,  and  commanded  him,  upon  pain  of  instant  death,  to  be  silent  and  to  accom- 
pany him.  Reynolds  obeyed,  and  suftered  himself  to  be  dragged  along  through  several  dark  and  narrow  lanes, 
tUI  they  arrived  at  an  obscure  and  retired  passage  in  the  liberties  of  Dublin.  Here  Neilson  presented  a  pistol  to 
his  prisoner's  breast — *' What,"  said  the  indignant  conspirator,  "should  I  do  to  the  villaiu  who  could  insinuate 
biniseli  into  my  couhdeuce  for  the  purpose  of  betraying  me  ?"  Reynolds,  in  a  firm  tone,  replied,  "  You  Ahoulf 
ihool  him  througli  the  heart."  Neilson  was  so  struclv  by  this  reply,  that,  though  his  s'j.^picions  were  not  retnoved, 
he  changed  his  purpose,  and  putting  up  his  pistol,  allowed  the  other  to  retire.  This  fact  is  given  a3  relati-d  b» 
en  eminent  Irish  barrister,  to  nliom  it  was  conimmiiciited  by  oue  -jf  Uie  parlies.— C, 


PKftORATION  301 

awh.le  triujnpharit  on  jxiLlie  prejudice.  I  know  of  few  instances 
wherein  tlie  edge  of  liis  testimony  has  not  been  fatal,  or  only 
bhmted  by  the  extent  of  its  execution,  and  retiring  from  the  pub- 
lic view  beneath  an  heap  of  its  own  carnage." 

Mr.  Curran's  parting  words  to  the  juiy  in  this  case  have  been 
also  omitted  in  the  printed  collection  of  his  speeches. 

"  You  have  been  emphatically  called  upon  to  secure  the  state  by 
a  condemnation  of  the  prisoner.  I  am  less  interested  in  the  con- 
dition and  political  hapjiiness  of  this  country  than  you  are,  for 
probably  I  shall  be  a  shorter  while  in  it.  I  have  then  the  greater 
claim  on  your  attention  and  confidence,  when  I  caution  you  against 
the  greatest  and  most  fatal  revolution — that  of  the  sceptre,  into  the 
hands  of  the  informer.  These  are  pi'obably  the  last  words  I  shall 
ever  speak  to  you ;  but  these  last  are  directed  to  your  salvation, 
and  that  of  your  posterity,  when  they  tell  you  that  the  reign  of  the 
informer  is  the  suppression  of  the  law.  My  old  friends,  I  tell  you, 
that,  if  you  sun-ender  yourselves  to  the  mean  and  disgraceful 
instrumentality  of  your  own  condemnation,  you  will  mark  your- 
selves fit  objects  of  martial  law — you  will  give  an  attestation  to 
the  British  minister  that  you  are  fit  for,  and  have  no  expectation 
of  any  other,  than  maitial  law — and  your  liberties  will  be  flown, 
never,  never  to  return  !  Your  countiy  will  be  desolated,  or  only 
become  the  gaol  of  the  living;  until  the  informer,  fatigued  with 
slaughter,  and  gorged  with  blood,  shall  slumber  over  the  sceptre 
of  pei-jury.  No  pen  shall  be  found  to  undertake  the  disgusting- 
office  of  your  historian  ;  and  some  future  age  shall  ask — what 
became  of  Ireland  ?  I  )o  vou  not  see  that  the  leo-al  (jarnaire  which 
takes  place  day  after  day  has  already  depraved  the  feelings  of 
your  v/retched  population,  which  seems  impatient  and  clamorous 
for  the  amusement  of  an  execution.  It  remains  with  you — in  ynur 
detei'mination  it  lies — whether  that  population  shall  be  alone  com- 
posed of  four  species  of  men — the  informer  to  accuse,  the  jury  to 
find  guilty,  the  judge  to  condemn,  and  the  prisoner  to  sufi'er.  It 
regardeth  not  me  what  impressions  your  vei'dict  shall  make  on  the 


302  LIFE   OF    CURRAN. 

fate  of  this  country ;  but  you  it  much  regardeth.  TLe  oLserva- 
tions  I  have  offered,  the  warning  I  have  held  forth,  I  bequeath  you 
with  all  tb'^  solemnity  of  a  dying  be(][uest;  and  oh!  may  the 
acquittal  ot  your  accused  fellow-citizen,  who  takes  refuge  in  your 
verdict  from  the  vampire  who  seeks  to  suck  his  blood,  be  a  blesse<l 
and  happy  promise  of  speedy  peace,  confidence,  and  security,  to 
tliis  wretched,  distracted,  and  self-devounng  country  !"  * 

The  jireceding  trials  were  immediately  folloAved  by  an  act  of 
attainder  against  three  of  the  conspirators  who  had  previously 
perished,  and  whose  property  and  consideration  pointed  them  out 
as  objects  of  this  measure  of  posthumous  severity.  One  of  tliese 
was  Lord  Edward  Fitzgerald,  f  a  young  nobleman,  whose  high 
connections  and  personal  qualities  excited  the  most  lively  sympathy 
for  his  unfortunate  end.  He  was  one  of  the  leaders  ao-ainst  v/hom 
Reynolds  had  given  information ;  and  for  some  weeks  had  con- 
trived, by  disguising  and  secreting  himself,  to  elude  the  pursuit  of 
the  officers  of  justice.  At  length  he  was  trac-ed  to  an  obscure 
house  in  the  metropolis,  and  apprehended.  He  made  a  desperate 
resistance,  and  shortly  after  died  in  prison,  from  the  wounds  which 
he  had  received  in  the  struggle.  His  widow  and  infant  children 
petitioned  against  the  bill  of  attainder,  upon  which  occasion  Mr. 
Curran  was  heard  as  their  counsel  at  the  bar  of  the  House  of 
Commons.  J 

[Loi'd  Camden,  the  Viceroy,  was  vainly  appealed  to  by  Lord 
Edward's  family,  to  take  compassion  on  the  widow  and  three 
babes,  the  eldest  not  four  years  old,  and  protect  their  estate  for 


*  Mr.  fiond  was  convicted,  and  sentenced  to  die  :  but,  in  consequence  of  a  negociation 
entered  into  between  the  government  and  the  state  prisoneis,  of  which  one  of  the  articles 
proposed  by  the  latter  was  tliat  his  life  should  be  spared,  he  was  respited.  He  was  shortly 
after  carried  off  by  an  attack  of  apoplexy. — C.  [Thomas  Davis,  giving  credence  to  a 
charge  made  by  Dr.  Madden,  in  his  "  United  Irishmen,"  says  that  there  is  much  evidence 
to  show  that  Bond  was  murdered.  I  confess  that  I  do  not  see  the  motive  of  such  a 
:rime. — M.] 

t  The  other  two  were  Messrs.  Cornelius  Qrogan,  and  Beauchamp  Bagcnal  Harvey.— 0 

$  August  20th,  1798.— 0. 


tOKD   KDWARD   FITZGERALD.  30/? 

thera  from  violence  and  jjlunder.  The  Viceroy  would  not,  or 
could  not,  exercise  humanity.  On  the  27th  July,  1798,  Toler 
(afterwards  Lord  Norbury)  introduced  a  bill  into  the  Irish  House 
of  CDmmons,  to  attaint  Lord  Edward,  and  Messrs.  Gi'Ogan  and 
Harvey.  All  etibrts  against  this  vicarious  trial  of  dead  and  uncon- 
victed men  were  fruitless.  Arthur  Moore  (afterwards  ;i  judge), 
Jonah  Bariington,  and  Pluuket  spoke,  as  members  of  Parliament, 
on  the  side  of  humanity.  Reynolds,  who  had  been  implicitly 
trusted  by  Lord  Edward,  established  the  case  against  him.  Still, 
it  appeared  (as  it  was)  against  law  and  justice  to  attaint  an  untried 
man — every  accused  person  being  j^resumed  innocent  until  con- 
victed, on  trial.  Mr.  Curran's  appeal,  though  powerful,  was 
hopeless.] 

His  speech  upon  this  question  is  imperfectly  reported  ;  but  even 
had  it  been  more  correctly  given,  the  leading  topics  would  be 
found  of  too  abstract  a  nature  to  attract  the  general  reader.  It 
Btill  contains,  like  almost  all  his  arguments  upon  the  most  techni- 
cal subjects,  passages  of  feeling  and  interest.  At  this  period,  lie 
could  never  refrain,  no  matter  what  the  occasion  might  be,  from 
giving  expression  to  the  mingled  sentiment  of  melancholy  and 
indignation  with  which  the  scenes  that  were  passing  before  him 
had  tilled  his  mind. 

"Upon  the  previous  and  important  question,  namely,  the  guilt 
of  Lord  Edward  (without  the  full  proof  of  which,  no  punisliinent 
cm  be  just),  I  have  been  asked  by  the  conmiittee  if  I  have  any 
.defence  to  go  into.  I  was  confounded  by  the  question,  whicli  I 
could  not  answer;  but,  upon  a  very  little  reflection,  I  see,  in  that 
very  confusion,  the  most  conclusive  proof  of  the  injustice  of  the 
bill;  for,  what  can  be  more  flagrantly  unjust  than  to  in(piire  into 
a  fact,  of  the  truth  or  falsehood  of  which  no  human  beiug  can 
have  knowledge,  save  the  informer  who  comes  forward  to  a.ssert 
it  ?  Sir,  I  now  answer  the  question  :  I  have  no  defensive  evidence 
— it  is  impossible  that  I  should.  I  have  often  of  late  i/one  to  the 
dungeon  of  the  captive.,  hut  never  have  I  gone  to  the  grave  of  tfie 


304  LLFE    OF   CURRAif. 

dead  to  receive  instructions  for  his  defence— nor,  in  truth,  have  1 
ever  before  been  at  the  trial  of  a  dead  man  :*  I,  tlierefore,  offer  no 
evidence  upon  this  inquiry,  against  the  perilous  example  of  which 
I  do  protest,  on  behalf  of  tlie  public,  and  against  the  cruelty  and 
injustice  of  which  I  do  protest  in  the  name  of  the  dead  father, 
whose  memory  is  souglit  to  be  dishonoured,  and  of  his  infant 
orj)hans,  whose  bread  is  sought  to  be  taken  away." 

The  allusion  in  the  following  passage  to  the  amiable  character 
of  Lord  Edward  Fitzgerald,  will  lose  much  of  its  force  to  those 
who  have  heard  nothing  of  that  unfortunate  nobleman,  except  his 
fate.  His  private  excellencies  were  so  conspicuous,  that  the  officer 
of  the  Crown  [Toler],  who  moved  for  leave  to  bring  in  the  bill  of 
attainder,  could  not  refrain  from  bearing  ample  testimony  to 
them  :  "  his  political  ofiences  he  could  not  mention  without  grief; 
and,  were  it  consistent  with  the  principles  of  public  justice,  he 
would  wish  that  the  recording  angel  should  let  fall  a  tear,  and 
wash  them  out  for  ever." 

"  One  topic  more,"  said  Mr.  Curran,  "  you  will  permit  me  to 
add.f     Every  act  of  this  sort  ought  to  have  a  practical  morality 

♦  Lord  Brougham  has  more  than  once  mentioned  to  me  that,  in  the  whole  range  of 
forensic  eloquence  with  which  he  was  acquainted,  he  remembered  nothing  more  pathetic 
and  touching  than  this  passage  which  I  have  printed  in  Ualics.  The  Bill  of  attainder 
passed  despite  of  many  strenuous  efforts  to  interest  George  III.  in  favour  of  the  widow 
and  her  orphans.  Lord  Edward's  estate  was  then  sold  in  Chancery,  to  satisfy  a  mortgage, 
and  bought  for  £10,500  by  Mr.  W.  Ogilvie,  Lord  Edward's  stepfather,  wl.o  cleared  the 
property,  and  restored  it  to  the  widow.  The  poor  woman  (better  known,  perhaps,  as 
Pamela,  the  reputed  daughter  of  Madame  de  Genlis  and  Egalite),  quitting  Ireland,  went 
to  live  at  Hamburg,  where  she  married  within  two  years  of  Lord  Edward's  death.  The 
union  was  disunion.  She  died,  at  Paris,  poor  and  miserable,  in  1S31.  The  British 
Government  promised  to  reverse  the  act  of  attainder,  when  the  Irish  "  troubles  "  were 
over,  but  this  merciful  act  of  justice  was  not  accomplished  until  1819.  The  reader  may 
recollect  Byron's  graceful  sonnet  of  thanks  to  George  IV.  (then  Prince  Regent),  for  this 
act. — M. 

t  The  gist  and  law  of  the  case  wei-e  thus  put  by  Curran  into  a  single  sentence  :  "  But 
if  be  died  without  attainder,  a  fair  trial  was  impossible,  because  a  fair  defence  was  Impos- 
sible ;  a  direct  punishment  upon  his  person  was  impossible,  because  he  could  not  feel  it ; 
and  a  confiscation  of  his  estate  was  equally  impossible,  because  it  was  then  no  longer  hig, 
bat  was  vested  in  his  heir,  to  whom  it  belonged  by  a  title  as  good  as  that  by  wiiich  it  hat? 
ever  belonged  to  him  in  his  lifetime,  namely,  the  known  law  of  the  country." — M. 


THE    STATE   TKLU.S.  305 

flowing  from  its  principle.  If  loviilty  and  justice  requiie  that 
these  infants  should  be  deprived  of  bread,  must  it  not  be  a  viola- 
tion of  that  principle  to  give  them  food  or  shelter?  Mlist  not 
every  loyal  and  just  man  wish  to  see  them  (in  the  words  of  the 
famous  Golden  Bull)  always  poor  and  necessitous,  and  for  ever 
accompanied  by  the  infamy  of  their  lather ;  languishing  in  con- 
tinued indigence,  and  tiiiding  their  punishment  in  living  and  their 
relief  in  dying;  and  if  the  widowed  mother  should  carry  the 
r)rphan  heir  of  her  unfortunate  husband  to  the  gate  of  any  man 
who  might  feel  himself  touched  by  the  sad  vicissitudes  of  human 
affairs — who  might  feel  a  compassionate  reverence  for  the  noble 
blood  that  flowed  in  his  veins,  nobler  than  the  loyalty  that  first 
ennobled  it ;  that,  like  a  rich  stream,  rose  till  it  ran  and  hid  its 
fountain — if  remembering  the  many  noble  qu;dities  of  his  unfor- 
tunate father,  his  heart  melted  over  the  calamities  of  the  child ; 
if  his  bosom  swelled,  if  his  eyes  overflowed,  if  his  too  precipitate 
hand  was  stretched  out  by  his  pity  or  his  gratitude  to  the  pooi 
excommunicated  suft'erers,  how  could  he  justify  the  rebel  tear,  or 
the  traitorous  humanity  ?" 

Mr.  Curran's  conduct  upon  these  memorable  causes  exposed  his 
character  at  the  time  to  the  foulest  misrepresentation.  The  furious 
and  the  limid  considered  it  an  act  of  loyalty  to  brand  as  little 
better  than  a  traitor  the  advocate  who,  in  defending  the  accused, 
ventured  to  demand  tliose  legal  privileges,  and  that  fair,  impartial 
hearing,  to  which,  by  the  constitution  of  their  country,  they  were 
entitled.  He  often  received,  as  he  entered  the  Court,  anonymous 
letters  threatening  liis  life,  if  he  should  utter  a  syllable  that  might 
bring  discredit  upon  the  public  measures  of  the  day.  Even  in  the 
House  of  Commons,  he  had,  iif  the  preceding  year,  to  meet  the 
charge  of  having  forfeited  the  character  of  a  "good  subject"  by 
his  efforts  for  his  clients.  "  I  am  heavily  censured,"  said  he,  "  for 
having  acted  for  them  in  the  late  prosecutions.  I  feel  no  shame 
at  such  a  charge,  except  that  of  its  being  made  at  such  a  time  aa 


306  LrfE  OF  CtrURAN. 

this ;  that  to  defend  the  people  should  be  held  out  as  an  imj:  atation 
upon  the  King's  counsel,  when  the  people  are  prosecuted  by  the 
state.  I  think  every  counsel  is  the  property  of  his  fellow  subjects. 
If,  indeed,  because  I  wore  his  Majesty's  gown  I  had  declined  my 
duty,  or  had  done  it  weakly  or  treacherously — if  I  had  made  that 
p-own  a  mantle  of  hypocrisy,  and  had  betrayed  my  client,  or  sacri- 
ficed him  to  any  personal  view — I  might,  perhaps,  have  been 
thought  wiser  by  those  who  have  blamed  me,  but  I  should  have 
thought  myself  the  basest  villain  upon  earth."  And,  in  a  letter  to 
Mr.  Grattan,  some  years  after,  alluding  to  the  same  subject,  ho 
says :  "  But  what  were  those  attacks  ?  Slanders  provoked  by  a 
conduct  of  which  my  friends,  as  well  as  myself,  had  reason  to  be 
proud — slanders  cast  upon  me  by  the  very  men  whose  want  of 
wisdom  or  humanity  threw  upon  me  the  necesssity  of  pursuing 
that  conduct  which  provoked  their  vengeance  and  their  misrepre- 
sentations. Thank  God  !  I  did  adopt  and  pursue  it,  under  the 
pressure  of  uninterrupted  attacks  upon  my  character  and  fortune, 
and  frequently  at  the  hazard  of  my  life.  I  trust,  that  while  I  have 
memory,  that  conduct  will  remain  indelibly  engraven  upon  it, 
because  it  will  be  there  a  record  of  the  most  valuable  of  all  claims 
— a  claim  upon  the  gratitude  of  my  own  conscience." 

In  resisting  such  attacks,  or  in  braving  any  more  aggravated 
measures  of  political  hatred,  Mr.  Curran  might  have  stood  alone, 
and  have  looked  with  calmness  to  the  result ;  but  gratefully  to  his 
own  feelings,  and  honourably  for  others,  he  was  not  thus  abandoned 
to  his  own  protection.  It  was  now  that  he  was  enabled  to  appre- 
ciate the  full  value  of  some  of  the  intimacies  of  his  youth,  by 
finding  in  his  own  case  how  tenderly  the  claims  of  the  ancient 
friend  and  companion  were  respected  in  a  season  of  general  alarm, 
distrust,  and  unnatural  separation.  Had  it  not  been  for  the  inter- 
ference of  Lord  Kilwarden,  his  character  and  repose  would  have 
been  more  frequently  invaded ;  but  that  virtuous  person,  whose 
mind  was  too  pure  to  be  sullied  by  party  rancour,  discountenanced 


LORD   KILWAKDEN.  30? 

every  proposal  to  prosecute  his  friend ;  and  never  failed  to  check, 
as  far  as  his  authority  could  do  so,  any  acts  of  malignity  which 
might  have  been  adopted  without  his  knov/ledge.* 

It  would  be  defrauding  Lord  Kilwarden  of  his  greatest  praise, 
to  attribute  this  generous  interposition  to  considerations  of  mere 
privats  friendship  :  it  was  only  a  part  of  that  system  of  rare  and 
manly  toleration  which  adorned  his  whole  public  career.     It  is 

*  As  an  example  ot  the  spirit  of  petty  persecution  to  which  he  was  exposed  fiom  per- 
Bons  in  subordinate  authority,  it  may  be  mentioned,  that  in  the  year  179S,  when  the  mili- 
tary were  billeted  Miroughout  the  country,  a  party  of  seventeen  soldiers,  accompanied 
by  their  wives,  or  their  profligate  companions,  and  by  many  children,  and  evidently 
selected  for  the  purpose  of  annoyance,  were,  without  any  previous  notice,  quartered  on 
Mr.  Ourrau's  house  ;  but  the  moment  that  Lord  Kilwarden  heard  of  the  circumstance,  the 
nul«niice  was  removed.  There  is  another  instance  of  similar  interposition  to  which  Mr. 
Curran  alludes  in  his  speech  on  behalf  of  Hevey,  and  of  which  the  particulars  are  too 
honourable  to  Lord  Kilwarden  to  be  omitted.  Mr.  Curraii,  in  that  case,  mentioned,  that 
"  a  learned  and  respected  brother  barrister  had  a  silver  cup,  and  that  Major  Sandys  (the 
keeper  of  the  provost  prison)  having  heard  that  it  had  for  many  years  borne  the  inscrip- 
tion of  '  Erin  go  brach,*  or  '  Ireland  for  ever,'  considered  this  perseverance  in  guilt  for 
such  a  length  of  years  as  a  forfeiture  of  the  delinquent  vessel  ;  and  that  his  poor  friend 
IJras  accordingly  robbed  of  his  cup."  The  gentleman  in  question  was  Mr.  M'Nally.  The 
manner  of  the  robbery  is  characteristic  of  the  times;  a  Serjeant  waited  upon  him,  and 
delivered  a  verbal  command  from  Major  Sandys  to  surrender  the  cup;  Mr.  M'Nally 
refused,  and  commissioned  the  messenger  to  carry  back  such  an  answer  as  so  daring  a 
requisition  suggested.  The  serjeant,  a  decent,  humane  Englishman,  and  who  felt  an 
honest  awkwardness  at  being  employed  on  such  a  service,  complied;  but  respectfully 
remonstrated  upon  the  imprudence  of  provoking  Major  Sandys.  The  consequences  soon 
appeared  :  the  serjeant  returned  with  a  body  of  soldiers,  who  paraded  before  Mr.  M'Nally's 
door,  and  were  under  orders  to  proceed  to  extremities  if  the  cup  was  not  delivered  up.  Upon 
Mr.  M'Nally's  acquainting  Lurd  Kilwarden  with  the  outrage,  tlie  latter  burst  Into  tears, 
and  exclaiming,  that  "his  own  sideboard  might  be  the  next  object  of  plunder,  if  such 
atrocious  practices  were  not  checked,"  lost  not  an  instant  in  procuring  a  restitution  of 
the  property.  The  cup  was  accordingly  sent  back  with  the  inscription  erased.  "  And 
here,"  continued  Mr.  Curran,  observing  upon  this  transaction,  "  let  me  say,  in  my  own 
defence,  tliat  this  Is  the  only  occasion  upon  which  I  have  ever  mentioned  It  with  the 
least  appearance  of  lightness.  I  have  often  told  the  story  in  a  way  that  it  would  not 
become  me  to  tell  it  here:  I  have  told  it  in  the  spirit  of  those  feelings  that  were  excited 
at  seeing  that  one  man  could  be  sober  and  humane,  at  a  moment  when  so  many  thousands 
were  drunk  and  barbarous;  and  probably  my  statement  was  not  stinted,  by  the  recollec- 
tion that  I  held  that  person  in  peculiar  respect  and  regard.  But  little  does  it  signify 
whether  acts  of  moderation  and  humanity  are  blazoned  by  gratitude,  by  flattery,  or  by 
friendship:  they  are  recorded  in  the  heart  from  which  they  sprung:  and,  in  the  hour  of 
adverse  vicissitude,  if  it  should  ever  come,  sweet  is  the  odour  of  their  memory,  and  pre- 
cious the  balm  of  their  consolation." — C. 


,^0§  LIFfi   Of   CtTRRAlSf. 

often  the  face  of  the  most  splendid  characters,  who  mingle  in  poli- 
tical contentions,  to  be  misunderstood  and  traduced,  until  the  tur- 
bulence of  the  scene  is  past,  or  until  the  appeasing  influence  of  the 
grave  extorts  an  admission  of  their  virtues.  With  Lord  Kil warden 
it  was  otherwise  ,  so  conspicuous  were  (if  not  his  talents)  his  integ- 
rity and  humanity,  more  admirable  than  the  most  exalted  talents, 
that  Ireland,  in  her  most  passionate  moments,  thought  and  spoke 
of  him  while  he  lived  as  she  now  does  of  his  memory.  His  con- 
duct in  the  situation  of  Attoi-ney-General  would  alone  have  entitled 
him  to  the  lasting  gratitude  of  his  country.  This  trying  and  so 
frequently  unpopular  oflSce  he  filled  during  the  most  agitated  2>eriod 
of  her  history.  From  the  year  1790  to  1798  it  devolved  upon  him 
to  conduct  the  state  prosecutions,  a  task  so  difficult  to  perform  with- 
out reproach ;  and,  to  his  honour  it  is  recorded,  that  he  did  not 
escape  reproach — the  reproach  of  an  extreme  respect  for  human 
life.  He  delighted  in  mercy  ;  and  though,  "  like  the  noble  tree, 
that  is  wounded  itself,  while  it  yields  the  balm,"  the  indulgence  of 
his  nature  exposed  him  to  censure,  he  was  still  inflexibly  merciful, 
screening  the  deluded,  mitigating,  where  it  could  be  done,  the  pun- 
ishment of  the  convicted,  abstaining,  in  the  most  aggravated  cases, 
from  embittering  the  agonies  of  the  criminal  by  official  invective, 
or  by  more  inhuman  levity.  Such  were  the  arts  by  which  this 
excellent  man  collected  arround  him  the  applause  of  the  good, 
and  earned  for  his  memory  that  epitaph  which  is  never  separated 
from  an  allusion  to  his  fate — "  the  lamented  Lord  Kilwarden." 


As  soon  as  the  first  interval  of  professional  occupation  permitted 
him,  Mr.  Curran  seized  the  opportunity  of  passing  over  to  England, 
and  of  seeking  in  a  more  tranquil  scene,  and  in  the  consolations  of 
private  friendship,  a  temporary  relief  from  the  anguish  with  which 
he  had  witnessed  the  spectacle  of  turbulence  and  suffering  at  home. 
Upon  the  present  occasion,  his  feelings  of  personal  respect,  and  his 


CAROLAN,    THE    IRISH    BARD.  309 

certainty  of  finding  a  generous  sympathy  for  the  calamitie:--  of  their 
common  country,  directed  his  steps  to  the  residence  of  the  Earl  of 
Moira,*  a  nobleman  for  whose  public  and  private  virtues  he  had 
long  entertained  the  most  ardent  veneration  ;  and  it  would  here  be 
depriving  Mr.  Curran's  memory  of  one  of  the  titles  of  honour, 
upon  which  he  always  set  the  highest  value,  if  it  were  not  added, 
that,  from  his  first  acquaintance  with  his  lordship,  and  with  hjs 
accomplished  mother,  he  continued  ever  after  to  enjoy  their  most 
perfect  confidence  and  esteem.  During  this  visit  to  them,  he 
addressed  to  the  latter  the  following  little  poem,  in  which  the  pre- 
vailing sentiment  will  be  found  to  be  the  despondency  that  oppres- 
sed his  own  mind  at  the  unfortunate  jjeriod. 

LINES   ADDRESSED   TO   LADY   CHARLOTTE   EAWDON,  AND   WRITTEN    ON  A  BLANK 
LEAF  OF  CAROL.VN'S  IRISH  AIRS.      DONNINGTON  PARK,  OCTOBER,  1798. 

And  she  said  unto  her  people,  Lo!  he  is  a  wanderer  and  in  sadness  ;  go 
therefore,  and  give  him  food,  that  he  be  not  hungry,  and  wine,  that  he  be 
comforted.  And  they  gave  him  food  and  wine,  and  his  heart  was  glad: 
and,  when  he  was  departing,  he  said  unto  her.  I  will  give  thee  a  book — it 
containeth  the  songs  of  the  bards  of  Erin,  of  the  bards  of  the  days  that  are 
gone  !  and  these  bards  were  prophets,  and  tlie  griefs  of  the  times  to  come 
were  known  unto  them,  and  their  hearts  were  sore  troubled  ;  and  their 
songs,  yea,  even  their  songs  of  joy,  were  full  of  heaviness !  This  book  will 
I  give  unto  thee  ;  and  it  sliall  be  a  memorial  of  the  favour  thou  sbowedst 
unto  me.  And  1  will  pray  a  prayer  for  thee,  and  it  shall  be  heard — that 
thy  days  may  be  happy  ;  and  that,  if  sorrow  should  come  unto  thee,  it  may 
only  be  for  a  season,  and  that  thou  mayest  find  comfort  even  as  I  have 
done,  so  that  thou  mayest  say,  even  as  1  have  said,  I  did  not  take  heed 
unto  my  wo'-ds,  when  I  said  I  was  as  one  without  hope.  Surely  1  am  not 
a  wanderer,  neither  am  I  in  the  land  of  strangers ! 

*  The  Ea-W  '  f  Moira  here  named  served,  in  this  country,  as  Aide-de-camp  to  Sir  Henry 
Clinton,  and  subsequently  as  Adjutant-General  of  the  British  forces.  He  was  then  Lord 
Rawdon,  and,  on  his  father's  death,  became  Karl  of  Moira.  He  ruined  his  fortune  by 
intimacy  with  George,  Prince  of  Wales — was  sent  to  India,  as  Governor-General  to 
repair  It — remained  there  nine  years,  and  was  made  Marquis  of  Hastings  in  his  "iSsence. 
He  returned  to  Pliipland  in  IS'2'2,  and  was  made  Governor  of  Malta  In  1824,  and  died  in 
1826.  He  was  father  of  Lady  Flora  Hastings,  so  fouUy  "done  to  death  by  lying- 
'vopfr-es,"  in  Queen  Victoria's  Court;  some  years  since. — ^I. 


310  LIFE   OF    CUKRAJSr. 

By  the  waters  of  Babylon  we  sat  down  and  wept,  when  we  remember 
thee,  0  Sion !    . 

Cardan,  thy  happy  love 

No  jealous  doubt,  no  pang  can  prove. 

Thy  generous  lord  is  kind  as  brave ; 

lie  loves  the  bard,  and  scorns  the  slave  : 

And  Charlotte  deigns  to  hear  thy  lays, 

And  pays  thee  not  with  thoughtless  praise. 

With  flowery  wreaths  the  cup  is  crown'd  : 

The  frolic  laugh,  the  dance  goes  round 

'•  Tlie  hall  of  shells  :"   the  merry  throng 

Demand  thy  mirth,  demand  thy  song. 

Here  echoes  wait  to  catch  the  strain, 

And  sweetly  give  it  back  again. 

Then,  happy  bard !   awake  thy  fire — 

Awake  the  heart-string  of  thy  lyre — 

Invoke  thy  Muse.     Thy  Muse  appears ; 

But  robed  in  sorrow,  bathed  in  tears. 

No  blithesome  tale,  alas !  she  tells — 

No  glories  of  the  "  hall  of  shells  " — 

No  joy  she  whispers  to  thy  lays — 

No  note  of  love,  no  note  of  praise  ; — 

But  to  thy  boding  fancy  shows 

The  forms  of  Erin's  future  woes, 

The  wayward  fates,  that  crown  the  slave, 

That  mar  the  wise,  that  crush  the  brave. 

The  tyrant's  frown,  the  patriot's  doom. 

The  mother's  tears,  the  warrior's  tomb. 

In  vain  would  mirth  inspire  thy  song : 

Grief  heaves  thy  breast,  and  claims  thy  tongue  : 

Thy  strain  from  joy  to  sadness  turns  : 

Thy  bard  would  smile — the  prophet  mourns.* 

Ml'.  Curran  had  scarcely  returned  to  Ireland  to  resume  his  public 
duties,  when  it  was  his  fate  to  be  engaged,  while  performing  them, 
in  another  scene,  which  bore  a  striking  resemblance  to  the  melan- 

♦  These  rerses  were  written  in  answer  to  a  question  from  Lady  Rawdon,  upon  the 
cause  of  the  mixture  of  liveliness  and  melancholy  which  distinguishes  the  composition 
Qf  Carolan. — 0. 


THEOBALD    WOLFE   TONE.  311 

choly  catastrophe  in  Jackson's  case.  The  circumstances  alluded 
to  were  those  which  followed  the  trial  and  conviction  of  Theobald 
Wolfe  Tone. 

Mr.  Tone  was  one  of  the  most  active  promoters  of  the  designs  of 
the  United  Irishmen  ;  and,  according  to  the  concurring  testimony 
of  all  his  cotemporaries,  was  the  ablest  man  who  had  given  his 
support  to  that  cause.  He  was  originally  a  member  of  the  Irish 
bai',  where  his  talents  could  not  have  failed  to  have  raised  him  to 
distinction  ;  but  the  principles  of  the  French  Revolution,  and  the 
hope  of  successfully  applying  them  to  change  the  condition  of  his 
own  country,  soon  diverted  his  ardent  mind  from  legal  pursuits, 
and  involved  him  in  that  political  career  which  subsequently  occu- 
pied his  life.  In  this  new  field  he,  at  a  very  early  period,  became 
conspicuous  for  his  zeal  in  supporting  the  claims  of  the  Roman 
Catholics,  who  appointed  him  a  secretary  to  their  committee,  and 
voted  him  a  sum  of  money- as  the  reward  of  his  exertions.  He  was 
also  one  of  the  original  projectors  of  the  plan  of  combining  the 
popular  strength  and  sentiment,  which  was  afterwards  maturt'd  into 
the  Irish  Union.  That  association  existed  some  years  before  its 
object  was  to  effect  a  revolution ;  but  it  has  already  been  shown, 
that,  as  early  as  lYOl,  Mi'.  Tone  recommended  precisely  the  same 
views  which  the  future  leaders  vainly  attempfed  to  accomplish.  In 
1794,  when  Jackson  arrived  in  Ireland  upon  his  secret  mission 
from  the  French  Government,  he  soon  discovered  that  Mr.  Tone 
was  one  of  the  persons  the  most  likely  to  approve  and  assist  his 
designs.  He  accordingly  communicated  them  to  him,  and  was  not 
disappointed  in  his  cxpcctatioii.  Mi-.  Tone  so  cordially  embraced 
the  proposal  of  an  invasion  of  Ireland  by  the  French,  that,  had  not 
the  urgency  of  his  private  afiairs  prevented,  he  would  have  passed 
over  to  France,  in  order  to  confer  in  person  with  the  French 
authorities  upon  the  subject.  Some  of  the  discussions  upon  this 
topic  took  place  in  the  prison  of  Newgate,  in  the  presence  of 
Cockayne  and  Mr.  Hamilton  Rowan,  the  latter  of  whom  was  at 
that  time  under  sentence  of  confinement  for  the  publication  of  a 


312  LIFE   OF   CUEEAK. 

libel.  Jackson  being  shortly  after  arrested  upon  tlie  information 
of  Cockayne,  Mr.  Rowan,  who  was  aware  that  the  evidence  of  that 
witness  would  equally  involve  himself,  effected  his  escape,  and  fled 
to  Fi'ance.  Mr.  Tone  remained.  Whatever  his  more  private  com- 
munications might  have  been  with  Jackson,  u])on  whose  fidelity 
he  relied,  he  conceived  that  the  amount  of  Cockayne's  testimony 
could  convict  him  of  no  higher  an  offence  than  misprision  of 
treason.  Considerable  exertions  were  also  used  by  his  j^rivate 
friends  to  dissuade  the  Government  from  a  prosecution ;  and,  in 
consequence,  he  was  not  arrested.  The  evidence  upon  Jackson's 
trial,  however,  having  publicly  shown  that  some  degree  of  treason- 
able connexion  had  subsisted  between  him  and  Mr.  Tone,  the  latter 
was  advised,  if  he  consulted  his  safety,  to  withdraw  from  Ireland. 
He  accordingly,  in  the  summer  of  1795,  transported  himself  and 
bis  family  to  America.*  Here  he  did  not  remain  many  months. 
He  tendered  his  services  to  the  French  Directory,  and  having  met 
with  all  the  encouragement  he  could  desire,  he  procured  a  passage 
to  France,  where  he  arrived  in  the  beginning  of  the  year  1796. 
He  was  most  fjxvourably  received,  and  appointed  to  a  commission 
in  the  French  army.  His  efl:brts  to  persuade  the  Directory  to 
send  an  armament  to  Ireland  have  been  previously  mentioned. 
The  first  expedition  having  failed,  a  second  attempt  was  made  in 
the  autumn  of  1798.  This  was  equally  unsuccessful;  and  Mr. 
Tone,  who  was  on  board  the  Hoche  French  line-of-battle-ship,  one 
of  the  vessels  captured  by  Sir  J.  B.  Warren's  squadron  off  the  Irish 
c.oast,  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  English  Government,  and  was 
brought  to  trial  by  court-martial  in  Dublin,  on  the  10th  of  Novem- 
ber, I798.t 


♦  The  vessel,  in  which  he  was  a  passenger,  no  sooner  arrived  in  sight  of  an  American 
port,  than  she  was  boarded  by  a  boat  from  a  British  man  of  war.  Mr.  Tone  was  (among 
others)  impressed  to  serve  as  a  sailor  in  his  majesty's  navy ;  but,  after  considerable 
difficulties,  his  own  remonstrances,  and  the  solicitations  of  Mrs.  Tone,  obtained  his 
release. — C. 

t  There  is  no  report,  in  Thomas  Davis's  excellent  edition  of  Curran's  speeches,  of  his 
defence  of  Wolfe  Tone.— M. 


tone's  tkial.  313 

Mr.  Tone  appeared  in  court  in  the  dress  of  a  French  officer. 
When  called  on  for  his  defence,  he  admitted  the  facts  of  wliicli  lie 
was  accused  ;*  but  pleaded  (of  course  ineftectuuUy)  his  French 
commission.  He  then  proceeded  to  read  a  paper  which  he  had 
drawn  up  in  justification  of  his  conduct,  from  the  conclusion  of 
which  it  was  evident  that  he  had  entertained  no  hope  that  any 
defence  could  avail  him.  "  I  have  little  more  to  say.  Success  is 
all  in  this  life ;  and,  unfavoured  of  her,  virtue  becomes  vicious  in 
the  ephemeral  estimation  of  those  who  attach  every  merit  to  pros- 
perity. In  the  glorious  race  of  patriotism,  I  have  pursued  the 
path  chalked  out  by  Washington  in  America,  and  Kosciusko  in 
Poland.  Like  the  latter,  I  have  failed  to  emancipate  my  countiy; 
and,  unlike  them  both,  I  have  forfeited  my  life.  I  have  done  my 
duty,  and  I  have  no  doubt  the  Court  will  do  t'..eirs.  I  have  only 
to  add,  that  a  man  who  has  thought  and  acted  as  I  have  done, 
should  be  ai-med  against  the  fear  of  death.  I  conceive,"  continued 
he,  "  that  I  stand  here  in  the  same  light  with  our  emigres ;  and, 
if  the  indulgence  lay  within  the  pow<'f  of  the  court,  I  would  only 
request  what  French  magnanimity  allowed  to  (^^liarette  and  to  the 
Count  de  Sombreuil — the  death  o\^  a  sn!<liei',  and  to  be  shot  by  a 
file  of  grenadiers.  This  is  the  only  favour  I  have  to  ask ;  and  I 
"trust  that  men,  susceptible  of  the  nice  feelings  of  a  .soldier's  honour, 
will  not  refuse  the  request.  It  is  not  from  any  pei-sonal  feeling 
that  I  make  this  request,  but  from  a  ros]>oct  to  tlie  uniform  whicii 
I  wear,  and  to  the  brave  army  in  which  I  have  fought." 

This  fijial  request  was  not  granted.  It  was  directed  by  the 
Government  that  he  should  be  executed  in  the  ordinary  foi-m,  and 
in  tlie  most  public  manner;  l>ut  this  tlie  i)risoner  took  tlie  resolu- 
tion of  preventing,  by  an  act,  which,  in  his  case,  shows  the  uncei'tain 
security  of  any  speculative  determinations  respecting  suicide, 
against  tlie    pressure    of   the    actual    calamity,  or   of  the  many 

*  When  askod  what  he  wniiia  plead,  lie  oxcliiinied,  "  OuUty ;  for  I  have  never,  durinp: 
my  llfo,  stonpod  to  a  prevarication." — C. 


314  LIFE   OF   CUKRAN. 

other  motives  which  impel  a  man  to  raise  his  hand  against  him- 
self. 

Upon  tlie  e\'ening  before  the  Hoche  sailed  from  Brest,  the  sub- 
ject of  suicide  was  full}'  discussed  among  the  Irish,  who  formed  a 
part  of  the  expedition.  They  felt  confident  of  success,  should  the 
French  troops  debark  in  safety  upon  the  coast  of  Ireland;  but  they 
were  equally  certain,  that,  if  captured  at  sea,  they  would  all  h« 
condemned,  and  executed.  Upon  this  a  question  arose,  whethei 
in  the  latter  event,  they  should  suffer  themselves  to  be  put  to 
death  according  to  the  sentence  and  forms  of  law.  Mr.  Tone 
maintained  that  they  ought ;  and,  with  his  usual  eloquence  and 
animation,  deli^'^'.red  his  decided  opinion,  that,  in  no  point  of  view 
in  which  he  had  ever  considered  suicide,  could  he  hold  it  to  be 
justifiable.  It  is  supposed,  that,  in  his  own  particular  instance, 
he  did  not  at  this  time  anticipate  an  ignominious  mode  of  death 
but  that  he  expected,  in  case  of  capture  and  condemnation,  to  be 
allowed  the  military  privilege  which  he  afterwards  so  earnestly 
claimed.f  Disappointed  in  this  hope,  he  now  committed  the  act 
which  he  had  so  lately  reprobated.  He  was  induced  to  do  so 
either  by  a  natural  impulse  of  personal  pride,  of  which  he  had 
not  previously  contemplated  the  powerful  influence,  or  (as  is  con- 
jectured by  those  who  best  knew  him)  out  of  consideration  for 
the  army  of  which  he  was  a  member,  and  for  whose  honour,  in 
h.  •  estimation,  no  sacrifice  could  be  too  great. 

Mr.  Tone's  execution  whs  fixed  for  Monday,  the  12th  of  Novem- 


t  The  gentleman  who  has  communicated  the  above  circumstances  was  present  at  the 
conversation.  Independent  of  the  moral  arguments  adduced  against  suicide,  it  was  sug- 
gested by  one  of  the  company,  that  from  politic:!!  considerations,  it  would  be  better  not 
to  relieve,  by  any  act  of  self-murder,  the  Irish  government  from  the  discredit  in  which 
numerous  executions  would  involve  it — an  idea  which,  he  says,  Mr.  Tone  warmly 
approved.  He  adds,  that  when  it  appeared  that  the  Hoche  was  likely  to  be  captured,  a 
boat  was  despatched  to  her  from  the  Biche  (a  small,  fast  sailing  vessel,  which  afterwards 
escaped  inta  Brest)  in  order  to  bring  ofif  all  the  Irish  on  board  ;  but  that  Mr.  Tone  could 
not  be  persuaded  to  avail  himself  of  the  opportunity.— C.  [Wolfe  Tone's  own  Memoir* 
ten  every  thing  about  him. — M.] 


tone's  suicide.  316 

ber.  At  an  early  hour  upon  that  morning  the  sentinel  who 
watched  in  his  i-oom  having  approached  to  awaken  him,  f(nmd 
him  with  his  throat  cut  across,  and  apparently  expiring.  A  sur- 
geon was  immediately  called,  who,  on  examining  the  wound,  pro- 
nounced it  not  mortal,  though  extremely  dangerous ;  to  which  Mr. 
Tone  faintly  answered,  "  I  find,  then,  I  am  but  a  bad  anatomist." 
The  wound  was  dressed,  with  the  design  of  pi-olouging  life  ;ill  the 
hour  of  one  o'clock,  the  time  appointed  for  his  execution.  In  the 
interval  a  motion  was  made  in  the  court  of  Kind's  Bench  by  Mr. 
Curran,  on  an  affidavit  of  Mr.  Tone's  father,  stating  that  his  son 
had  been  brought  before  a  bench  of  officers,  callinof  itself  a  court- 
martial,  and  by  them  sentenced  to  death.  "  I  do  not  pretend  to 
say,"  observed  Mr.  Curran,  "that  Mr.  Tone  is  not  guilty  of  the 
charges  of  which  he  was  accused ;  I  presume  the  officers  were 
honourable  men ;  but  it  is  stated  in  the  affidavit,  as  a  solemn  fact, 
that  Mr.  Tone  had  no  commission  under  his  majesty,  and  therefore 
no  court-martial  could  have  cognizance  of  any  crime  imputed  to 
him,  while  the  court  of  King's  Bench  sat  in  the  capacity  of  the 
great  criminal  court  of  the  huid.  Tn  times  when  war  was  raging, 
when  man  was  opposed  to  man  in  the  field,  courts  martial  might 
be  endured ;  but  eveiy  law  authority  is  with  me  while  T  stand 
upon  this  sacred  and  immutable  principle  of  the  constitution — thai 
martial  laio  and  civil  law  are  incompatible  ;  and  that  the  foi-mer 
must  cease  with  the  existence  of  the  latter.  This  is  not  the  time 
for  urguing  this  momentous  question.  My  client  must  appear  in 
this  court.  He  is  cast  for  death  this  day.  He  may  be  ordered  for 
execution  while  I  address  you.  I  call  on  the  court  to  support  tlie 
law.  I  move  for  a  habeas  corpus  to  be  directed  to  the  provost- 
marshal  of  tlie  bai-racks  of  Dublin,  and  Major  Sands  to  bring  up 
the  body  of  Mr.  Tone." 

Chief  Justi(.'.e.* — " Have  a  writ  instantly  prepared." 

*  l/trd  EUlwardeo. — 0. 


316 


LITE   OF   CUERAil. 


Mr.  Curran. — "My  client  may  die  while  this  writ  is  pre- 
paring." 

Chief  Justice.— "  Mr.  Sheriff,  proceed  to  the  barracks,  and 
acquaint  the  provost-marshal  that  a  writ  is  preparing  to  suspend 
Mr.  Tone's  execution ;  and  see  that  he  be  not  executed."'' 

The  Court  awaited,  in  a  state  of  the  utmost  agitation,  the  return 
of  the  Sheriff. 

Mr.  Sheriff. — "  My  lords,  I  have  been  at  the  barracks,  in  j^ursu- 
ance  of  your  order.  The  provost-mai-shal  says  he  must  obey  Major 
Sands.     Major  Sands  says  he  must  obey  Lord  Cornwallis." 

Mr.  Curran.— "Mr.  Tone's  f^Uher,  my  lords,  returns,  after  serving 
the  habeas  corpus :  he  says  General  Craig  will  not  obey  it." 

Chief  Justice.— "  Mr.  Sheriff,  take  the  body  of  Tone  into  your 
custody.  Take  the  provost-marshal  and  Major  Sands  into  custody  : 
and  show  the  order  of  this  court  to  General  Craio-." 

Mr.  Sheriff,  who  was  understood  to  have  been  refused  admittance 
at  the  barracks,  returns. — "I  have  been  at  the  barracks.  Mr. 
Tone,  having  cut  his  throat  last  night,  is  not  in  a  condition  to  be 
removed.  As  to  the  second  part  of  your  order,  T  could  not  meet 
the  parties." 

A  French  emigrant  surgeon,  whom  General  Craig  had  sen^ 
along  with  the  Sheriff,  was  swoni. 

Surgeon. — "  I  was  sent  to  attend  Mr.  Tone  this  morning  at  four 
o'clock.  His  windpipe  was  divided.  I  took  instant  measures  to 
secure  his  life,  by  closing  the  wound.  There  is  no  kriowiiig,  for 
four  days,  whether  it  will  be  mortal.  His  head  is  now  kept  in  one 
position.  A  sentinel  is  over  him,  to  2)revent  his  speaking.  His 
removal  would  kill  him." 

Mr.  Curran  applied  for  further  surgical  aid,  and  for  the  admis- 
sion of  Mr.  Tone's  friends  to  him.     Refused. 

Chief  Justice. — "  Let  a  rule  be  made  for  suspending  the  execu- 
tion of  Theobald  Wolfe  Tone  ;  and  let  it  be  served  on  the  proper 


person," 


DEATH   OF   TONE.  317 

The  prisoner  lingered  until  tlie  19tli  day  of  November,  when  he 
expired,  after  having-  endured  the  most  excruciating  pain;*  and 
with  his  fate  shall  close  the  account  of  the  part  which  Mr.  Curran 
bore  in  the  public  transactions  of  this  calamitous  year. 


*  Mr.  Tone  had  reached  only  his  thirty- fourth  year.  Eis  father  was  an  eminent  coach- 
maker  in  Dublin:  he  had  sixteen  children  (thirteen  soaa  and  three  daughters),  of  whom 
onlj  five  attained  the  age  of  maturity,  and  whose  fates  afford  a  singular  instance  of  the 
wanderings  and  calamities  of  a  single  family.  Theobald  died  as  before  related.  Matthew 
was  executed  the  same  year,  in  Dublin  barracks,  for  high  treason  :  it  is  said  that  no  moi-e 
than  five  persons  were  present  at  the  execution.  William  was  killed  in  India,  a  major  in 
Holkar's  service.  Arthur  accompanied  his  brother  Theobald  to  America ;  and  was  subse- 
quently, at  the  early  age  of  eighteen,  appointed  to  the  command  of  a  frigate  in  the  ser- 
vice of  the  Dutch  republic:  he  is  supposed  to  have  perished  at  sea,  as  no  account  was 
ever  after  received  of  him.  Mary  was  married  to  a  foreign  merchant,  and  died  at  St. 
Domingo.  Their  aged  mother  survives,  and  now  [1819]  resides  in  Dublin.  After  the  death 
of  Mr.  Wolfe  Tone,  his  widow  and  infant  children  were  protected  by  the  French  republic* 
and,  on  the  motion  of  Lucien  Bonaparte,  a  pension  granted  for  their  support.— C. 


318  LIFE  OF  CtJRRAJr. 


CHAPTER   Xni. 


Effects  of  the  Legislative  Union  upon  Mr.  Curran's  mind  —Speech  in  Tandy's  case --St'ee3!i 
in  behalf  of  Hevey— Allusion  in  the  latter  to  Mr.  Godwin — Mutual  friendship  of  Mr. 
Curran  and  Mr.  Godwin. 


Mr.  Curran's  history,  during  the  eight  remaining  years  of  his 
forensic  life,  consists  almost  entirely  of  the  causes  of  interest  in 
which  he  was  engaged.  He  was  no  longer  in  Parliament  when 
the  question  of  the  Union  was  agitated  and  carried.  This  measure, 
which  he  had  always  deprecated  as  ruinous  and  disgraceful  to  his 
country,  completed  those  feelings  of  political  despondency  to  which 
the  scenes  of  the  rebellion,  and  the  uniform  failure  of  every  strug- 
gle to  avert  them,  had  been  habituating  his  mind.*  With  the 
Union,  which  he  considered  as  "the  extinction  of  the  Irish  name," 
all  his  long  cherished  hopes  for  Ireland  vanished  for  ever.  From 
this  last  sliock  to  his  aflections  and  his  pride  he  never  recovered. 
It  was  ever  after  present  to  his  imagination,  casting  a  gloom  over 
all  his  political  speculations,  and  interfering  with  the  repose  of  his 
private  hours.  This  sensibility  to  what  so  many  others  bore  with 
complacency  as  a  mere  national  disaster,  will,  perhaps,  be  ridiculed 
as  affected,  or  doubted  as  incredible;  but  those  who  best  knew 


*  Years  before,  while  In  Parliament,  he  had  thus  predicted  ihe  results  of  an  Union  :— 
"  It  Is  very  easy  to  conceive,  that  in  case  of  such  an  event  the  inevitable  cons'.'quence 
would  be,  an  union  with  Great  Britain.  And  if  any  one  desires  to  linow  what  that 
would  be,  I  will  tell  him :  It  would  he  the  emigration  of  every  man  of  conHfquence  from 
Ireland;  it  would  be  the  participation  of  British  taxes  without  British  trade;  it 
would  be  the  extinction  of  the  Irish  name  as  a  people.  We  should  become  a  wretched 
colony,  perhaps  leased  out  to  a  company  ofjexos,  as  xcas  formerly  in  contemplation, 
and  governed  by  a  few  tax-gatherers  and  excisemen,  unless  possibly  you  m,ay  add  fif- 
teen or  twe7ity  couple  of  Irish  members,  loho  might  befound  every  se-iftion  sleeping  in 
their  collars  under  the  manger  of  the  British  Minister." — M. 


• 


JAMES   NAPPER   TANDY.  319 

him  can  attest  the  sincerity  and  extent  of  his  affliction.  It  was  so 
deep,  that  he  began  seriously  to  meditate  a  final  departure  from 
Ireland.*  At  one  time  he  looke*!  towards  America,  at  another  to 
tlie  English  bar;  but  the  better  influence  of  duties  and  old  attach- 
ments prevailed  over  these  suggestions  of  melancholy,  and  he 
renuiined  to  conclude  his  fortiuies  on  the  scene  where  they  had 
commenced. 

CASE    OF   JAMES    NA.VPEB   TANDY. 

One  of  Mr.  Curran's  speeches,  which  has  been  omitted  in  all 
the  editions  of  the  published  collection,,!  was  that  in  behalf  of 
Mr.  James  Napper  Tandy.  Mr.  Tandy  had  been  a  conspicuous 
member  of  the  early  societies  of  United  Irishmen.  In  1795,  he 
was  indicted  for  High  Treason,  and  fled  to  the  Continent,  where 
he  became  an  officer  in  the  French  service.  lie  was  one  of  the 
persons  excluded  from  the  benefit  of  the  bill  of  genera)  amnesty, 
which  was  passed  after  the  suppression  of  the  rebellion  of  1798. 
The  other  particulars  of  his  case  may  be  sufficiently  collected  from 
Mr.  Curran's  statement.  The  trial  took  place  iu  the  King's  Bench, 
before  Lord  Kilwarden  and  the  other  judges  of  that  Cour:,  on  the 
19th  of  May,  1800.J: 

Mr.  Curran  (for  the  prisoner). — "My  lords,  and  you,  gentlemen 

•  "That  country  (as  lie  observes  in  one  of  his  latest  speeches  at  the  bar)  of  which  ] 
have  BO  often  abandonee,'  all  hope,  and  which  I  have  been  so  often  determined  to  quit  for 

jver — 

Saepe  vale  dicto,  niulta  sum  deiiide  locutus, 

Et  quasi  discedens  oscula  sumnia  dabam, 
Indulgens  animo,  pes  tardus  erat." 

iSpeech  in  Judge  Jo/mson^s  Case. 
t  It  is  to  be  found  in  Davis's  ed'lion. — M. 

'  Napper  Tandy  jj^d  been  a  merchant  in  Dublin,  of  good  fauiily,  and  became  an  active 
member  of  the  Corporation  fully  twenty-five  years  before  ITiiS.  In  the  struggle  for  Irish 
Independence,  he  commanded  the  Artillery  of  the  Volunteers,  and  had  his  guns  cast  with 

"  Free  Trade  or  else "  upo.i  them.     He  led   the  Radical  party  in  the  Corporation,  in 

1790,  and  was  much  mixed  up  with  the  United  Irishmen  from  1T9I.  He  lied  to  America, 
from  Tirosecut Ion,  in  1794,  left  it  In  179S,  and  headed  the  Irish  Government's  list  of  per- 
sons to  be  held  as  traitors,  if  (hey  did  not  come  in  to  be  tried  before  December  1799. 
Eventually,  he  was  seized  at  Hamburgh,  (a  neutral  German  city)  deported  to  Ireland, 


'^>20  LIFE  OF   CURRAK. 

or  the  jury,  1  am  in  this  case  of  counsel  for  Mr.  Tandy,  the 
prisoner  at  the  bar.  I  could  have  wished  it  had  been  the  plea- 
sure of  the  gentlemen  who  conduct  this  business  on  the  part  of 
the  Crown  to  have  gone  on  first :  the  subject  itself  is  of  a  veiy 
novel  nature  in  this  country ;  but  certainly  it  is  the  right  of  the 
Crown,  and  which  the  gentlemen  have  thought  proper  to  follow, 
to  call  on  the  counsel  for  the  prisoner  to  begin ;  and,  thcrcfoi-o,  it 
is  my  duty,  my  lords,  to  submit  to  you,  and  to  explain,  under  the 
direction  of  the  Court,  to  you,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  wliat  the 
nature  of  the  question  is  that  you  are  sworn  to  try. 

"  An  act  of  pai'liament  was  passed  in  this  country,  which  began 
to  be  a  law  on  the  Gth  of  October,  1798  ;  on  that  day  it  received 
the  royal  assent.  ]]y  that  law  it  is  stated,  that  the  prisoner  at  the 
bar  had  been  guilty  of  acts  of  treason  of  many  ditferent  hinds: 
and  it  enacted,  that  he  should  stand  attainted  of  high  treason 
except  he  should,  on  or  before  the  first  day  of  December  following, 
surrender  himself  to  one  of  the  Judges  of  this  Court,  or  to  one  of 
his  Majesty's  justi(;es  of  the  peace,  for  the  purpose  of  becoming 
amenab''-  to  that  law,  from  which  he  was  supposed  to  have  fled,  in 
oi'der  to  abide  his  trial  for  any  crime  that  might  be  alleged  agdnst 
him. 

"It  Avas  a  law  not  passed  for  the  ])urpose  of  absolutely  pro- 
nouncing any  judgment  whatsoever  against  him,  but  for  the  pur- 
pose of  compelling  him  to  come  m  and  take  his  ti'ial :  and  nothing 
can  show  more  strongly  that  that  act  of  Parliament  has  not  estab- 
lished anything  touching  the  fact  of  the  prisoner's  guilt;  because 
it  would  be  absurd,  in  one  and  the  same  breath,  to  pronounce  that 
he  was  guilty  of  high  treason,  and  then  call  upon  him  to  come  in 
and  abide  his  trial :  and  the  title  of  the  act  speaks  that  it  is  an 
act  nut  pronouncing  sentence  against  the  prisonei-,  but  that  H  13 
an  act  in  order  to  compel  him  to  come  forward. 

tried,  defended  by  Curran,  and  acquitted.  In  April  ISOl,  he  was  again  tried  tor  "  tuT-^'U 
ing"  n-eland,  convicted,  sentenced  to  be  hanged,  and  was  tinally  exchange!  agU-..  ft 
general  officer  taken  by  the  French,  and  died  there,  soon  after.— M. 


NAl^PEE   TANDY.  321 

"Tbis  act  cicates  a  Parliamentary  attainder,  not  founded  on  the 
establishment  of  the  prisoner's  guilt  of  treason,  but  on  his  contu- 
niaoijus  avoid".nce  of  trial,  by  standing  out  against  a  trial  by  law. 
I  make  this  observation  to  you,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  in  order 
that  you  may,  in  tlTe  first  instance,  discharge  from  your  minds  any 
actual  belief  of  any  criminality  in  the  prisoner  at  the  bai',  and  that 
for  two  reasons — first,  because  a  well-founded  conviction  of  his 
guilt,  on  the  autlioi'ity  of  this  statute,  might  have  some  impression 
on  the  minds  of  men  sitting  in  judgment  on  the  prisoner;  but  for 
a  more  material  reason  I  wish  to  put  it  from  your  miiitls,  because 
his  g.iilt  or  innocence  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  issue  yon  are 
sworn  to  try. 

"Gentlemen,  the  issue  you  are  called  to  try  is  not  the  guilt  or 
innocence  of  tlie  prisoner;  it  is  therefore  necessary  you  should 
untkrstand  exactly  what  it  is.  The  prisoner  was  called  on  to  show 
cause  why  he  should  not  sutler  death,  pursuant  to  the  enacting 
clause  of  the  statute  ;  and  he  has  j)ut  in  a  plea,  in  which  he  states, 
that  before  the  time  foi'  siurcnder  had  expired,  namely,  on  the 
24th  of  November,  ]V98,  seven  days  before  the  day  that  he  had 
for  suriendering  had  expired,  he  was,  by  the  order  of  liis  ^lajosty, 
arrested,  and  made  a  prisoner  in  the  town  of  Hamburgh ;  and  thai 
in  consequence  of  such  arrest,  it  became  impossible  for  him  to 
surrender  himself  and  become  amenable  to  justice  within  the  time 
2-)i'escribed :  and  the  counsel  for  the  ci'own  have  rested  the  case  on 
the  denial,  in  point  of  fact,  of  tliis  allegation;  and,  therefore,  the 
question,  dial  you  arc  to  tiy  is  simplified  to  this — 'T  was  arrested,' 
says  the  prisoner,  '  whereby  it  became  impossible  for  mo  to  sur- 
render'—to  which  the  counsel  foi'  the  crown  reply,  'You  liave  not 
been  arrested  at  the  time  alleged  by  you,  wliereby  it  became  impos- 
sible for  vou  to  surrender.'  This  T  conceive  to  be  the  issue,  in 
point  of  fact,  joined  between  the  parties,  and  on  which  it  is  my 
duty  to  explain  the  evidence  that  will  be  offered. 

"Mr,  Tandy  is  a  subject  of  this  country,  and  had  never  been  in 
it  from  the  time  this  act  of  parliament  passed,  until  he  was  brought 

14* 


322  LIFE  OF  CtJREAN. 

into  it  after  his  arrest  on  the  24th  of  November,  lT9.'.  •  on  tliat 
day  he  was  in  the  town  of  Hamburgh.  He  had  seven  daya,  in 
which  time  it  was  practicable  for  liim  to  arrive  in  this  country, 
and  surrender  himself,  according  to  the  requisitions  of  the  act  of 
attainder.  Every  thing  that  could  be  of  value  to  man  was  at  stake, 
and  called  on  him  to  make  that  surrender.  If  lie  did  not  sur- 
render, his  life  was  forfeited — if  he  did  not  surrender,  his  fortune 
was  confiscated — if  he  did  not  surrender,  the  blood  of  his  family 
was  corru])ted ;  and  lie  could  leave  them  no  inheritance,  but  the 
disgrace  of  having  suftei'ed  as  a  traitor. 

"  Your  common  sense,  gentlemen,  will  show  you,  that  where  a 
man  is  to  forfeit  his  life  unless  he  complies  with  the  conditions  of 
an  act  of  parliament — your  common  sense,  your  common  humanity 
must  show  you,  that  a  man  ought  to  be  suffered  to  perform  the 
conditions  on  which  his  life  depends.  It  can  require  no  argument 
to  impress  upon  youi'  mind,  that  to  call  on  a  man  to  surrender 
himself  on  pain  of  death,  and  by  force  to  prevent  him  from  sur- 
rendering, goes  to  an  atrocity  of  oppression  that  no  human  mind 
can  contemplate  without  horror. 

"  But  it  seems  that  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  was  a  man  of  too 
much  consequence  to  the  repose  of  all  civilized  nations ;  to  the 
great  moral  system,  I  might  almost  say,  to  the  great  physical 
system  of  the  universe,  to  be  permitted  to  act  in  compliance  with 
the  statute  that  called  upon  him  to  surrender  himself  upon  pain 
of  death.  The  wisdom  of  the  entire  continent  was  called  upon 
to  exercise  its  mediation  on  this  most  momentous  circumstance — 
the  diplomatic  wisdom  of  Germany  was  all  put  into  action  on  the 
subject — the  enlightened  humanity  of  the  north  was  called  on  to 
lend  its  aid.  Gentlemen,  you  know  as  well  as  I  the  princely  vir- 
tues, and  the  imperial  qualifications,  the  consummate  wisdom  and 
sagacity  of  our  stedfast  friend  and  ally,  the  Emperor  of  all  the 
Russias ;  you  must  feel  the  awe  with  which  he  ought  to  be  men- 
tioned :  his  sacred  person  has  become  embodied  in  the  criminal 
law  of  England,  and  it  has  become  almost  a  misprision  to  deem 


NAPPER   TAXDY.  323 

of  him  or  speak  of  liim  but  witli  reverence.  I  feel  that  reverence 
for  him  ;  and  I  deem  of  him  and  conceive  him  to  be  a  constella- 
tion of  ail  virtue — compared  with  whose  radiance  the  Ursamajor 
twinkles  only  as  the  glow-worm.  And,  gentlemen,  what  was  ihe 
result  of  the  exercise  of  this  combination  of  wisdom?  That  James 
Napper  Tandy  ought  not  to  be  got  rid  of  in  the  ordinary  way.  Tliey 
felt  an  honest  and  a  proper  indignation,  that  a  little  community 
like  Hamburgh  should  embezzle  that  carcase  which  was  the  [)ro- 
perty  of  a  mild  and  merciful  Government :  they  felt  a  proper 
indignation  that  the  senate  of  Hamburgh,  under  the  present 
sublime  system,  shouM  defraud  the  mercy  of  the  Government  of 
the  blood  of  the  prisoner,  or  cheat  the  gibbet  of  his  bones,  or 
deprive  the  good  and  loy.'ii  ravens  of  this  country  of  his  flesh — 
ami  accordinglv  by  an- order  issued  to  these  miserable  inhabitants 
of  the  town  of  U;^,mburg:h,  who  were  made  to  feel  that  common 
honesty  and  commcm  humanity  can  only  be  sustained  by  a  strength 
not  to  be  resisted  ;  tlioy  were  obliged  to  break  the  ties  of  justice 
and  hospitality— to  trample  on  the  privileges  that  every  stranger 
claims ;  they  were  obliged  to  suft'er  the  prisoner  to  be  trampled 
on,  and  meanly,  and  cruelly,  and  pitiably  to  give  up  this  unfor- 
tunate man  to  the  disposal  of  those  who  could  demand  him  at 
such  a  price. 

"  If  a  surrender,  in  fact,  had  been  necessary  on  the  part  of  the 
pi'isoner,  certainly  a  very  raateiial  object  was  achieved  by  arrest- 
ing liim :  because  they  thereby  made  it  impossible  for  him  to 
avail  himself  of  the  opportunity.  They  made  it  impossible  for 
liim  to  avail  himself  of  the  surrender,  if  the  reflection  of  his  miml 
led  him  to  it.  If  a  sense  of  the  duty  he  owed  his  family  led  him 
to  a  wish,  or  to  an  intention,  of  availing  himself  of  the  remaining 
time  he  had  to  surrender,  they  were  determined  he  should  not 
fake  advantage  of  it.  Ib^  had  been  guilty  of  what  the  law  deems 
a  crime,  that  is,  of  flying  from  justice,  though  it  does  not  go  to 
the  extent  )f  working  a  corruption  of  blood :  but  by  this  act  of 
power — by  this  act  of  tyrannic  force,  he  was  prevented  fi-om  doing 


324  LIFE   OF   CUKRAN-. 

that  wliich  every  court  of  justice  must  intend  ho  was  willing  to 
do :  whicli  the  law  intends  he  would  have  done — which  the  law 
gave  him  time  to  do — which  the  law  supposes  he  might  have  done 
the  last  hour,  as  well  as  the  first.  He  was  on  his  passage  to  this 
country ;  that  would  not  have  taken  up  a  third  pai't  of  the  time 
that  had  now  elf-Tised — but  by  seizing  on  him  in  the  manner  he 
was  arrested,  it  becnme  impossible  for  liim  to  surrender  himself, 
or  become  amenable  to  justice. 

But,  gentlemen,  the  prisoner,  when  he  was  arrested,  was  treated 
in  a  manner  that  made  it  irapo5sible  for  him  to  do  any  act  that 
might  have  been  considered  as  tsntamount  to  a  surrender.  He 
was  confined  in  a  dungeon,  little  larger  than  a  grave — he  was 
loaded  with  irons— he  was  chained  by  an  iron  that  communicated 
from  his  arm  to  his  leg ;  and  that  so  short,  as  to  grind  into  his. 
flesh.  In  such  a  state  of  restriction  did  he  remain  for  fifteen  days  ; 
in  such  a  situation  did  he  lie  in  a  common  vault;  food  was  cut 
into  shapeless  lumps,  and  flung  to  him  by  his  filthy  attendants  as 
he  lay  on  the  ground,  as  if  he  had  been  a  beast ;  he  li.id  no  be4 
to  lie  on  ;  not  even  straw  to  coil  himself  up  in,  if  he  could  ha-s'e 
slept.  In  that  situation  he  remained  in  a  foreign  country  for 
fifteen  days  of  his  long  imprisonment ;  and  he  is  now  called  to  show 
good  cause  why  he  should  not  sufl^er  death,  because  he  did  not 
surrender  himself  and  become  amenable  to  the  law.  He  was 
debarred  all  communication  whatsoever ;  if  he  attempted  to  speak 
to  the  sentinels  that  guarded  him,  they  could  not  understand  him  : 
he  did  make  such  kind  of  indications  of  his  misery  and  his  suffer 
ings  as  could  be  conveyed  by  signs,  but  he  made  them  in  vain  ;  and 
he  is  now  called  on  to  show  good  cause  wherefore  he  did  contu- 
maciously and  traitorously  refuse  to  surrender  himself,  and  become 
ameiuible  to  the  law. 

"  Gentlemen  of  the  jury,  I  am  stating  facts  that  happened  in  a 
foreign  country;  will  you  expect  that  I  should  produce  witnesses 
to  lay  thoi^e  abominable  offences  before  you  in  evidence?  It  was 
iiot  in  the  power  of  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  to  procure  witnesses 


NAPPEK   TAJSDY.  b25 

be  was  not  of  importance  enough  to  call  on  the  uriued  civilization 
of  Europe,  or  on  the  armed  barbarity  of  Europe,  to  compel  the 
inhabitants  of  the  town  where  he  was  imprisoned  to  attend  at  the 
bar  of  this  court  to  give  evidence  for  the  preservation  of  his  life ; 
but  thouo-h  such  interposal  could  not  be  obtained  to  preserve  his 
life,  it  could  be  procured  for  the  purposes  of  blood. 

"  And  this  is  one  reason  why  the  rights  of  neutral  states  should 
be  respected :  because,  if  an  individual,  claiming  those  privileges, 
be  tor'i  from  that  sanctuary,  he  comes  without  the  benefit  of  the 
testimony  of  those  that  could  save  his  life.  It  is  a  maxim  of  law, 
tliat  no  man  shall  lose  any  thing,  much  less  his  life,  by  the  nou 
performance  of  a  condition,  if  that  non-performance  had  arisen  by 
the  act  of  God,  or  of  the  party  who  is  to  avail  himself  of  the  con- 
dition ;  that  the  impossiblity  so  imposed  shall  be  an  excuse  for  tlie 
non-performance  of  the  condition :  that  is  the  defence  the  prisoner 
relies  upon  here.  'Why  did  you  not  surrender,  and  become 
amenable  to  justice  I  Because  I  was  in  chams.' — '  Why  did  you 
not  come  over  to  Irelaml  ?  Bec?use  I  was  a  prisoner  in  a  grave  in 
the  town  of  Hamburgh.'  '  Why  did  you  not  do  snmctbiiig  tanta- 
mount to  a  surrender  ?  Because  I  was  unpractiseil  in  the  lan- 
guage of  the  strangei-s,  who  could  not  be  my  protectors,  because 
they  were  also  my  fellow-sulTerers.' 

"  But  he  may  push  this  reasoning  much  farther :  the  statute 
was  made  for  the  express  purpose  of  making  him  amenable.  W^hen 
the  crown  seized  him  at  Hamburgh,  it  thereby  made  him  amen- 
able, and  so  satisfied  the  law.  It  could  not  seize  him  for  execu- 
tion as  an  attainted  person,  for  the  time  had  not  arrivi'd  at  wbicli 
the  attainder  could  attach.  The  King,  therefore,  seized  him  as  a 
man  liable  to  be  tried,  and  yet  he  calls  ui)on  him  to  sutler  death, 
because  he  did  not  make  himself  amenable  by  voluntary  sur- 
render ;  that  is,  because  he  did  not  do  that  which  the  King  was 
pleased  to  do  for  him,  by  a  seizure  which  made  it  at  once  unriece*- 
sary  and  impossible  for  him  to  do  by  any  voluntary  act. 


326  lh'e  of  cukkan. 

"Such  is  tlie  barbarity  and  folly  that  must  ever  arise,  flien 
force  and  power  assume  the  functions  of  reason  and  justice. 

"  As  to  bis  intention  after  the  arrest,  it  is  clearly  out  of  the 
question.  The  idea  of  intention  is  not  applicable  to  an  impossible 
act.  To  give  existence  to  intention,  the  act  must  be  possible,  and 
the  agent  must  be  free.  Gentlemen,  this,  and  this  only,  is  the 
subject  on  which  you  are  to  give  a  verdict.  I  do  think  it  is 
highly  honourable  to  the  gentleman  who  has  come  over  to  this 
country,  to  give  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  the  benefit  of  his  evi- 
dence ;  no  process  could  have  compelled  him  :  the  inhabitants  of 
foreign  countries  are  beyond  the  reach  of  process  to  bring  wit- 
nesses to  give  evidence.  But  we  have  a  witness,  and  that  of  the 
highest  respectability,  who  was  himself  at  Hamburgh  at  the  time 
Mr.  Tandy  was  arrested,  in  an  official  situation.  We  will  call  Sir 
James  Crawford,  who  was  then  the  King's  representative  in  the 
town  of  Hamburgh.  We  will  show  you,  by  his  evidence,  the 
facts  that  I  have  stated;  that  before  the  time  allowed  to  the  pri- 
soner to  surrender  had  elapsed.  Sir  James  Crawford  did  in  his 
official  situation,  and  by  orders  from  his  own  Government,  cause 
the  person  of  Mr.  Tandy  to  be  arrested  in  Uauiburgh.  Far  am 
I  from  suspecting,  or  insinuating  against  Sir  James  Crawford,  that 
any  of  the  cruelties  that  were  practised  on  that  abused  and  help- 
less community,  or  on  my  abused  client,  were  committed  at  his 
instance  or  personal  sanction  ;  certain  am  I  that  no  such  fact 
could  be  possible. 

"  I  told  you  before,  gentlemen,  that  the  jn-incipal  question  you 
had  to  try  was,  the  fact  on  which  the  parties  had  joined  issue  ; 
the  force  and  arrest  alleged  by  the  prisoner ;  and  the  denial  of 
(hat  force  by  the  counsel  for  the  Crown.  There  is  one  considera- 
lion,  that  I  think  necessary  to  give  some  attention  to.  What  you 
may  think  of  the  probable  guilt  or  innocence  of  the  prisoner,  is  not 
within  the  question  that  you  are  to  decide;  but  if  you  should  have 
any  opinion  of  thg.t  sort,  the  verdict  given  in  favour  of  the  prisoner 
can  be  no  preclusion  to  public  ju&tice,  if  after  your  verdict  they 


NAPPEE   TAJTOT.  327 

still  call  for  his  life ;  the  utmost  that  can  follow  from  a  verdict  in 
his  favour  will  be,  that  he  will  be  considered  as  a  person  wlio  has 
surrendered  to  justice,  and  must  abide  his  trial  for  any  crime  that 
may  be  charged  against  him.  There  are  various  ways  of  getting 
rid  of  him,  if  it  is  necessaiy  to  the  repose  of  the  world  that  he 
should  die. 

"  I  have  said,  if  he  has  committed  any  crime,  he  is  amenable  to 
justice,  and  in  the  hands  of  the  law :  he  may  be  proceeded  against 
before  a  jury,  or  he  may  be  proceeded  against  in  another  and 
iiore  summaiy  manner ;  it  may  so  happen  that  you  may  not  be 
.jailed  upon  to  dispose  finally  of  his  life  or  of  his  character. 

"  Whatever  verdict  a  jury  can  pronounce  upon  him  can  be  of 
no  final  avail.  There  was,  indeed,  a  time  when  a  jury  was  the 
shield  of  liberty  and  life :  there  was  a  time,  when  I  never  rose  to 
a<ldress  it  without  a  certain  sentiment  of  confidence  and  pride  ; 
but  that  time  is  past.  I  have  no  heart  now  to  make  any  appeal 
to  your  indignation,  your  justice,  or  your  humanity.  I  sink  under 
the  consciousness  that  you  are  nothing.  With  us,  the  trial  by 
jury  has  given  place  to  shortei-,  ami,  no  doubt,  better  modes  of 
disnosin<y  of  life.  K\en  in  tlie  sister  nation,  a  verdict  can  merely 
prevent  the,- duty  of  the  hangman;  but  it  never  can  purge  tlie 
stain  which  the  first  malignity  of  accusation,  however  felsified  by 
proof,  stamps  indelibly  on  the  character  of  an  '  ac(]uitted  felon.' 
To  speak  proudly  of  it  to  you  would  be  a  cruel  mockery  of  your 
condition  ;  but  let  me  be  at  least  a  supplicant  with  you  for  Its 
memory.  Do  not,  I  beseech  you,  by  a  vile  instrumentality,  cast 
any  disgrace  upon  its  memory. 

"I  know  you  are  called  out  to-day  to  fill  up  the  ceremonial  of 
a  craudy  pageant,  and  that  to-morrow  you  will  be  flung  back  again 
amono-  the  unused  and  useless  lumber  of  the  constitution :  but, 
trust  me,  the  good  old  trial  by  jury  will  come  i-ound  again  ;  trust 
me,  gentlemen,  in  the  revolution  of  the  great  wheel  of  human 
aiVairs,  though  it  is  now  at  the  bottom,  it  will  reascend  to  the 
station  it  has  lost,  and  once  more  assume  its  former  dignity  and 


328  LIFE   OF    CUKRAN. 

respect ;  trust  me,  tliat  mankind  will  become  tired  of  resisting  tbe 
spirit  of  innovation,  by  subverting  every  ancient  and  established 
principle,  and  by  tramjiling  upon  every  right  of  individuals  and  of 
nations.     Man,  destined  to  the  grave — nothing  that  appertains  to 
him  is  exempt  from  the  stroke  of  death — his  life  fleeth  as  a  dream, 
his  liberty  j)asseth  as  a  shadow.     So,  too,  of  his  slavery — it  is  not 
immortal ;  the  chain  that  grinds  him  is  gnawed  by  rust,  or  it  is 
rent  by  fury  or  by  accident,  and   the  wretch  is  astonished  at  the 
intrusions  of  freedom,  unannounced  even  hi/  the  harbinger  of  hope"^ 
Let  me  therefore  conjure  you,  by  the  memory  of  the  past,  and  the 
hope  of  the  future,  to  respect  the  fallen  condition  of  the  good  olc* 
trial  by  jury,  and  cast  no  infamy  upon  it.     If  it  is  necessary  tc 
the  repose  of  the  world  that  the  prisoner  should  die,  there  are 
many  ways  of  killing  him — we  know  there  are  ;  it  is  not  necessary 
that  you  should  be  stained  with  his  blood.     The  strange  and  still 
more  unheard  of  proceedings  against  the  prisoner  at  the  bar,  have 
made  the  business  of  this  day  a  subject  of  more  attention  to  all 
Europe  than  is  generally  excited  by  the  late  or  the  suffering  of 
any  individual.     Let  me,  therefore,  advise  you  sei'iously  to  reflect 
upon  your  situation,  before  vou  give  a  verdict  of  meanness  and  of 


*  There  is  a  passage  in  Dante  descriptive  of  the  same  state  of  amazement,  produced 
by  an  unexpected  escape  from  danger. 

E  come  quel  clie  con  lena  affanata, 

Dscito  del  pelago  alia  riva, 

Si  Volga  all'  acqua  perigliosa,  e  guata. 

(And,  as  a  man  with  difficult  short  breath, 
Forespent  with  toiling,  'scaped  from  sea  to  shore. 
Turns  to  the  perilous  wide  waste,  and  stand3 
At  gaze.) 

Oari/'s  Translation. 

A  distinguished  Italian  writer,  (Ugo  Foscolo,  in  the  Quarterly  Review)  now  in  Eng- 
land,  commenting  upon  this  passage  in  a  late  number  of  a  periodical  work,  observes, 
nearly  in  the  words  of  Mr.  Curran,  "  The  concluding  verse  places  the  man  in  that  state 
of  stupor  which  is  felt  upon  passing  at  once  to  safety  from  despair,  without  the  interven- 
tion of  hope  :  he  lool^s  back  upon  perdition  with  a  stare,  unconscious  how  he  had  escaped 


SIR   HENEY    HAYES.  329 

blood  that  must  stamp  the  character  of  folly  and  barbarity  upon 
this  already  disgraced  and  degraded  country."* 

[A  trial  of  great  local  interest,  in  which  Mr.  Curran  was  engaged, 
came  oft"  at  the  Spring  Assizes  of  Cork,  on  April  13th,  1801,  when 
Sir  Henry  Ilayes  was  capitally  indicted  for  the  abduction  of  Miss 
Pike.  The  facts  were  these;  Hayes  was  son  of  the  Alderman  of 
Cork,  and  had  ran  through  a  large  property.  He  was  fashionable 
and  expensive  in  his  habits.  A  widower,  with  several  children,  he 
determined  to  retrieve  his  fortune  by  marriage.  Samuel  Tike,  a 
Quaker,  was  a  banker  in  Cork,  on  whose  death,  Mary  Pike,  his 
daughter,  became  possessed  of  £20,000.  She  was  21  years  of  age, 
in  weak  health,  and  when  the  cause  for  action  took  place,  was  liv- 
ing with  her  relation,  Mr.  Cooper  Peni'ose,  at  his  beautiful  seal 
called  Wood  Hill,  on  the  Glanmire  road,  near  Cork.  On  Sunday, 
July  2,  1*797,  Sir  Henry  Hayes,  who  was  unacquainted  with  Mr. 
Penrose,  rode  over  to  Wood  Hill,  was  shown  round  the  demesne,  and 
finally,  in  the  full  spirit  of  hospitality,  was  asked  to  remain  and 
dine.  At  table,  he  first  saw  Miss  Pike,  but  had  no  conversation 
with  her  as  she  sat  at  a  side  table,  with  Mr.  Penrose's  daughters. 

Hayes  returned  to  Cork,  and  liaving  ascertained  that  Miss  Pike's 
mother  was  a  patient  of  Dr.  Gibbings,  wrote  to  him  on  some  trifling 
pretence,  obtained  a  reply,  and  then,  closely  imitating  the  handwrit- 
ing, sent  a  note  to  Mr.  Penrose,  intimating  that  Mrs.  Pike  was  taken 
suddenly  ill  and  wished  to  see  her  daughter,  and  to  command  dis- 
patch as  she  was  not  expected  to  live  many  hours.  This  missive 
reached  Mr.  Penrose  after  midnight,  on  July  22nd,  1797,  and  Miss 
Pike,  accompanied  by  Miss  I'enrose  and  another  relative,  set  off  in 
Mr.  Penrose's  carriage.  The  night  was  tempestuous  and  dark. 
The  carriage  had  not  proceeded  very  far  before  it  was  stopped 
by  a  body  of  armed  men.  Miss  Pike  was  identified  by  a  muffled 
man,  placed  in  another  carriage  with  a  lady,  and  driven  oft',  snr- 


♦  The  jury  found  a  verdict  for  the  prisoner.    Ue  was  afterwards  permitted  to  retlr« 
to  the  continent,  where  he  ended  his  days. — C. 


330  LIFE   OF   CUKBAN. 

rounded  by  an  armed  escort,  to  Mount  Vernon,  tlie  seat  of  Su  Henrv 
Hayes,  in  the  suburbs.  The  muffled  man  was  Hayes,  the  lady  was 
Lis  sister.  The  traces  of  Mr.  Penrose's  carriage  were  cut  to  pre- 
vent pursuit.  The  muffled  num  took  Miss  Pike  in  his  arms,  out 
of  the  carriage,  into  his  house,  and  placed  her  for  that  night,  under 
charge  of  two  women.  Next  morning,  at  day-break,  she  was  forced 
into  an  upper  room  by  Sir  Henry  and  Miss  Hayes,  and  a  man  in 
priest's  habits  was  introduced,  who  performed  a  soi't  of  mari-iage 
ceremonial,  in  which  Sir  Henry  attempted  to  force  a  ring  upon 
her  finger,  which  she  threw  away.  She  was  then  locked  up  in 
the  room,  which  contained  only  a  table  and  bed,  and  after  tea  had 
been  given  to  her.  Sir  Henry,  (to  use  her  own  words,)  was  "com- 
ing in  and  out,  and  behaving  in  the  rudest  manner,"  and  saying  she 
was  his  wife.  However,  he  did  not  perpetrate  the  worst  outrage. 
She  insisted  on  writing  to  her  friends,  who  liberated  her  the  next 
day. 

If  Sir  Henry  Hayes  was  popular.  Miss  Pike's  friends  were 
wealthy,  persevering,  and  determined.  They  appealed  to  the  law, 
such  abduction  being  then  a  capital  felony  under  the  statute. 
Hayes  fled.  A  reward  of  i£2000  was  offered  by  the  Government 
and  Miss  Pike's  friends,  but  in  vain.  Hayes  was  outlawed,  but 
actually  returned  to  Cork,  where  he  lived,  unconcealed  and  uimio- 
lested.  At  last,  Hayes  wrote  to  Miss  Pike,  politely  offering  to 
stand  his  trial,  which  took  place  (the  outlawry  being  reversed,  by 
consent,)  neai-ly  four  years  after  the  commission  of  the  offense.  Mr. 
Justice  Day  was  the  presiding  Judge.  There  was  a  great  array 
of  counsel  on  both  sides.  For  the  Crown,  Mr.  Curran  and  six 
others;  for  the  prisoner,  Mr.  Quin  and  seven  more.  Hayes  came 
into  Court  attended  by  "host  of  friends."  Curran's  speech  was 
earnest,  eloquent,  grave,  and  at  times  pathetic.  He  dwelt  on  the 
anomaly  of  Miss  Pike,  the  victim,  being  compelled  to  fly  to  Eng- 
land, for  security,  during  two  years  that  the  ravisher  was  "basking 
in  the  favours  of  a  numerous  kindred  and  acquaintance,  in  a 
widely-extended  city,"  where  eveiy  man  knew  his  person.     Hayes 


HEYEY   AJS-D   SIKJl.  331 

called  no  witnesses,  his  counsel  pressing  for  an  a«jquittal  in  law, 
from  the  insufficiency  of  evidence  under  the  statute  of  abduction. 
Curran  replied.  The  jury  returned  a  verdict  of  "Guilty,"  with  a 
recommendation  to  mercy.  The  point  of  law  raised  by  Sir  Henry's 
counsel  was  referred  to  the  twelve  judges  and  decided  against  him. 
The  capital  punishment  was  not  inflicted,  being  commuted  to 
transportation  for  life.  In  a  few  years,  a  full  pardon  was  granted. 
Hayes  returned  to  Cork,  and  died  over  twenty  years  after  the 
trial.*] 

The  next  of  Mr.  Curran's  professional  efforts  which  shall  be 
noticed  was  that  in  behalf  of  Mr.  John  Hevey,  who  brought  an 
action  for  false  imprisonment  against  Charles  Henry  Sirr,  town- 
major  of  Dublin,  f  This,  though  a  piivate  case,  was  intimately 
connected  with  the  public  events  in  which  the  preceding  state 
trials  originated.  It  also  resembles  them  in  the  examples  of  suffer- 
ing and  depravity  which  it  exhibits.  It  presents  a  picture  of  a  race 
of  beings,  the  greatest  scourge  of  an  agitated  country — political 
middle-men,  who,  conscious  that  the  restoration  of  tranquillity 
must  throw  them  out  of  employment  and  plunder,  feel  an  interest 
in  aggravating  the  public  disorders  by  every  art  of  violence  and 
persecution,  which,  under  the  pretext  of  proving  their  zeal,  can 
prolong  the  necessity  of  their  office.     Of  this  ofliice  and  its  detesi- 

♦  The  popiilai-  voice  was  wliolly  in  favoi"  of  Sir  Heniy  Hayes.     A  ballad-siDger  made  a 
good  deal  of  iiKuiey  by  selling  a  sontj,  the  refrain  of  which  was 

Sir  Henry  kissed — Sir  Henry  kissed 

Sir  Henry  kissed  the  Quaker. 
And  what  if  he  did  ?     You  ugly  thing, 

I'm  sure  he  did  not  ata  her  1 

On  the  morning  of  the  trial,  as  Mr.  Curran  was  going  into  the  Court-House,  some  of  the 
])opulnce,  who  greatly  admired  him,  called  out  "  God  bless  you,  Mr.  Curran  !  I  hope  you'll 
win  the  day!"  Curran,  who  was  affainut  their  favorite,  answered  "  If  I  do,  you'll  lose  the 
Knight!"  I  recollect  having  seen  Sir  Henry  Uayc:',  in  the  streets  of  Cork,  in  1825.  He 
was  a  low-statured,  thlc'<i-set  wau,  wearing  a  broad-brimmed  hat.  II  was  said  that  his 
constant  companion  was  a  man  who  used  to  walk  with  his  head  on  one  side,  the  effect,  I 
have  heard,  of  his  having  been  hanged  in  the  rebellion  of  179''. — M. 

t  May  ITth,   1S<J2. — C.     [The   trial  too'i  place  befori!  Tord  Kilwarden  and  a  spiciaJ 
Jury.-M.] 


332  LIFE   OF   CUKliAN. 

able  abuses,  a  tolerable  idea  may  be  formed  from  a  sketcli  of  Mr. 
Curran's  statement. 

"It  was  at  that  sad  crisis  (1798)  that  the  defendant,  fi-ora  an 
obscure  individual,  started  into  notice  and  consequence.  It  is  the 
hot-bed  of  public  calamity  that  such  inauspicious  products  are 
accelerated  without  being  matured.  From  being  a  town  major, 
a  name  scarcely  legible  in  the  list  of  public  incumbrances,  he 
became  at  once  invested  with  all  the  real  powers  of  the  most  abso- 
lute authority. 

"  With  this  gentleman's  extraordinary  elevation  began  the  story 
of  the  sufterings  and  ruin  of  the  plaintiff     A  man  was  prosecuted 
by  the  state ;  Hevey,  who  was  accidentally  present  at  the  trial, 
knowing  the  witness  for  the  prosecution  to  be  a  person  of  infamous 
character,  mentioned  the  circumstance  in  court.     He  was  sworn, 
and  on  his  evidence  the  prisoner  was  acquitted.     In  a  day  or  two 
after,  Major  Sirr  met  the  plaintiif  in  the  street,  asked  how  he  dared 
to  interfere  in  his  business  ?  and  swore,  by  God,  he  would  teach 
him  how  to  meddle  with  '  his  people.'     On  the  following  evening 
poor  Hevey  was  dogged  in  the  dark  into  some  lonely  alley— there 
he  was  seized,  he  knew  not  by  whom,  nor  by  what  authority — his 
crime  he  soon  learned,  it  was  the  treason  he  had  committed  against 
the  majesty  of  Major  Sirr.     He  was  immediately  c-onducted  to  a 
new  place  of  imprisonment  in  the  Castle-yard,  called  the  provost. 
Of  this  mansion  of  misery  Major  Sandys  was  the  keeper,  a  gentle- 
man of  whom  I  know  how  dangerous  it  is  to  speak,  and  of  whom 
every  prudent  person  will  think  and  talk  with  all  due  reverence. 
Here  Hevey  lay  about  seven  weeks;  he  was  at  last  discovered 
among  the  sweepings  of  the  prison.     '  Hevey '  (said  the  Major)  '  I 
have  seen  you  ride,  I  think,  a  sjiiart  sort  of  mare— you  can't  use 
her  here — you  had  better  give  me  an  order  for  her.'     Hevey,  in- 
duced by  hope  and  by  fear,  gave  the  order.     The  Major  accepted 
the  order,  saying,  '  Your  courtesy  will  not  cost  you  much — you 
are  to  be  sent  down  to-morrow  to  Kilkenny,  to  be  tried  for  your 
life — you  ^vill  most  certainly  be  hanged-^and  you  can  scarcely 


MAJOR   SIBR.  333 

think  that  your  journey  to  the  other  world  will  be  performed  on 
horseback.'  Hevey  was  accordingly  transmitted  to  Kilkenny,  tried 
by  a  court-martial,  and  convicted  upon  tlie  evidence  of  a  person 
under  sentence  of  death,  who  had  been  allured  by  a  proclamation 
otlering;  a  reward  to  any  man  who  would  come  forward  and  give 
any  evidence  against  the  traitor  Hevey.  Lord  Cornwallis  read 
the  transmiss  of  Hevey's  condemnation — his  heart  recoiled  from 
the  detail  of  suipidity  and  barbarity.  He  dashed  his  pen  acro.'JS 
the  odious  record,  and  ordered  that  Hevey  should  be  forthwitli 
liberated.  On  his  return  to  Dublin  the  plaintifi'  met  Major  Sandys, 
and  demanded  his  mare ; — '  Ungrateful  villain,'  (says  the  Major) 
•  is  this  the  gratitude  you  show  to  his  Majesty  and  to  me,  for  our 
clemency  to  you — you  shan't  get  possession  of  the  beast.'  Hevey 
brought  an  action  for  the  mare ;  the  Major,  not  choosing  to  come 
into  court  and  suggest  the  probable  success  of  a  thousand  actions, 
restored  the  property. 

"  Three  years,"  continued  Mr.  Curran,  "  had  elapsed  since  the 
deliverance  of  my  client ;  the  public  atmosphere  had  cleared ;  the 
private  destiny  of  Hevey  seemed  to  have  brightened,  but  the  malice 
of  his  enemies  had  not  been  appeased.  On  the  8th  of  last  Sep- 
tember, Mr.  Hevey  was  sitting  in  a  public  coffee-house ;  Major 
Siri'  was  there;  Mr.  Hevey  was  informed  that  Major  Sirr  had  at 
tiat  moment  said,  that  he  (Hevey)  ought  to  have  been  lianged. 
Tlie  plaintiff  was  fired  at  the  charge ;  lie  fixed  his  eyes  on  Sirr, 
and  asked  if  he  had  dared  to  say  so  ?  SiiT  declared  that  he  had, 
and  had  said  truly.  Hevey  answered,  that  he  was  a  slanderous 
scoundrel.  At  that  instant  Siir  I'ushed  upon  him,  and,  assisted  by 
three  or  four  of  liis  satellites,  who  attended  him  in  disguise,  secu- 
red liim  and  sent  him  to  the  Castle  guard,  desiring  that  a  receipt 
miffht  be  given  for  the  villain.  He  was  sent  thither.  The  officer 
of  the  giuu'd  chanced  to  be  an  Englishman,  but  lately  arrived  in 
Ireland — lie  said  to  the  bailiffs,  'If  this  was  in  England,  I  should 
think  this  gentleman  entitled  to  bail,  but  I  don't  know  the  laws  of 
this  country ;  however  I  think  you  ha<l  better  loosen,  those  irons 
ou  his  wrists,  or  they  mav  kill  him.' 


334  LIFE    OF    CUBRAN, 

"  Major  Sirr,  the  defendant,  soon  arrived,  went  into  his  office, 
and  returned  with  an  order  which  he  had  written,  and  by  virtue  of 
which  Mr.  Ilevey  was  conveyed  to  the  custody  of  his  old  friend 
and  gaoler,  Major  Sandys.  Here  he  was  flung  into  a  room  of 
about  thirteen  feet  by  twelve;  it  was  called  the  hospital  of  the 
provost ;  it  was  occupied  by  six  beds,  in  which  were  to  lie  fourteen 
or  fifteen  miseral  'e  wretches,  some  of  them  sinking  under  conta- 
gious disorders.  Here  he  passed  the  first  night  without  bed  or 
food.  The  next  morning  his  humane  keeper,  the  Major,  appeared. 
The  plaintiff  demanded  why  he  was  so  imprisoned,  complained  of 
hunger,  and  asked  for  the  gaol  allowance  ?  Major  Sandys  replied 
with  a  torrent  of  abuse,  which  he  concluded  by  saying,  'your 
crime  is  your  insolence  to  Major  Sirr;  however,  he  disdains  to 
trample  on  you ;  you  may  appease  him  by  proper  and  contrite 
submission ;  but  unless  you  do  so  you  shall  i-ut  where  you  are.  I 
tell  you  this,  that  if  Government  will  not  protect  us,  by  God,  we 
will  not  protect  them.  You  will  probably  (for  I  know  your  inso- 
lent and  ungrateful  hardiness)  attempt  to  get  out  by  an  habeas 
corpus,  but  in  that  you  will  find  yourself  mistaken,  as  such  a  ras- 
cal deserves.'  Hevey  was  insolent  enough  to  issue  a  habeas  cor- 
pus, and  a  return  was  made  on  it,  '  that  Hevey  was  in  custody 
under  a  warrant  from  General  Craig,  on  a  charge  of  treason.'  That 
this  return  was  a  gross  falsehood,  fabricated  by  Sirr,  I  am  instructed 
to  assert.  The  judge,  before  whom  this  return  was  brought,  felt  that 
he  had  no  authority  to  liberate  the  unhappy  prisoner;  and  thus, 
by  a  most  inhuman  and  malicious  lie,  my  client  was  again  reman- 
ded to  the  horrid  mansion  of  pestilence  and  famine.  Upon  this 
Mr.  Hevey,  finding  that  nothing  else  remained,  signed  a  submission 
dictated  by  Sandys,  was  enlarged  from  confinement,  and  brought 
the  present  action." 

The  foregoing  is  a  very  curtailed  sketch  of  the  particulars  of 
this  case ;  those  who  partake  of  the  prevailing  taste  for  strong 
emotions  are  referred  to  the  entire  report,  where  they  will  find  in 
every  line  abundant  sources  of  additional  excitement. 

Of  the  style  in  which  the  advocate   commented   upon   these 


StATE   OF   IRELAND.  335 

extraordinary  fa;'.R,  the  following  is  among    tlie  meet   striking 
examples : 

Adverting  to  the  ignorance  in  which  England  was  kept  regard- 
ing the  sufferings  of  Ireland,  and  to  the  benefit  to  be  derived  from 
sending  her  one  autlienticated  example,  Mr.  Curran  goes  on — "  1 
cannot  also  but  observe  to  you,  that  the  real  state  of  one  countrv 
is  more  forcibly  impressed  on  the  attention  of  another  by  a  verdict 
on  such  a  subject  as  this,  than  it  could  be  by  any  general  descrip 
tion.  When  you  endeavour  to  convey  an  idea  of  a  great  number 
of  barbarians  practising  a  great  variety  of  cruelties  upon  an  incal- 
culable number  of  sufierers,  nothing  defined  or  specific  finds  itswav 
to  the  heart ;  nor  is  any  sentiment  excited,  save  that  of  a  general, 
erratic,  unappropiated  commiseration.  If,  for  instance,  you  wished 
to  convey  to  the  mind  of  an  English  matron  the  horrors  of  that 
direful  period,  when,  in  defiance  of  the  remonstrance  of  the  ever 
to  be  lamented  Abercromby,*  our  poor  people  were  surrendered  to 
the  licentious  bnitality  of  the  soldiery,  by  the  authority  of  tJie 
State — you  would  vainly  endeavour  to  give  her  a  general  picture 
of  lust,  and  rapine,  and  murder,  and  conflagration.  By  endea- 
vouring to  comprehend  every  thing,  you  would  convey  nothing. 
When  the  father  of  poetry  wislies  to  j^ourtray  the  movements  of 
contending  armies  and  an  embattled  field,  he  exemplifies  only,  he 
does  not  describe — he  does  not  venture  to  describe  the  perplexed 
and  promiscuous  conflicts  of  adverse  hosts,  but  by  the  acts  and 
fates  of  a  few  individuals  he  conveys  a  notion  of  the  vicissitudes 
of  the  fight  and  the  fortunes  of  the  day.  So  should  your  story  to 
her  keep  clear  of  generalities;  instead  of  exhibiting  the  picture  of 
an  entire  province,  select  a  single  object,  and  even  in  that  single 
object  do  not  release  the  imagination  of  your  hearer  from  its  tiisk, 
by  giving  more  than  an  outline.  Take  a  cottage — place  the 
affrighted  mother  of  her  orphan  daughters  at  the  door,  the  pale- 
ness of  death  in  her  face,  and  more  than  its  agonies  in  her  heart — 

•  Sir  Ralph  Abeicroiiiby  (born  in  1788,  died  in  1801)  commanded  the  troops  in  Ireland 
during  the  early  part  of  th.!  Rebellion  of  1798;  hut  his  disgust  at  the  system  of  cruelty  and 
tyranny  sanctioned  there  by  the  Government,  caused  liim  to  make  indignant  remon- 
strances, which  were  answered       his  recall. — M. 


33G  LIFE    OF   CUKRAN. 

lier  ucliiug-  heart,  her  anxious  ear  struggling  through  the  mist  of 
closing  day  to  catch  the  a2)proaches  of  desolation  and  dishonour. 
The  ruffian  gang  arrives — the  feast  of  plunder  begins — the  cup  of 
madness  kindles  in  its  circulation — the  wandering  glances  of  the 
ravisher  become  concenti-ated  upon  the  shrinking  and  devoted 
victim  :  you  need  not  dilate — you  need  not  expatiate — the  unpol- 
luted mother,  to  whom  you  tell  the  story  of  hon-or,  beseeches  you 
not  to  proceed ;  she  presses  her  child  to  her  heart — she  drowns 
it  in  her  tears — her  fancy  catches  more  than  an  angel's  tongue 
could  describe  ;  at  a  single  view  she  takes  in  the  whole  miserable 
succession  of  force,  of  profanation,  of  despair,  of  death.  So  it  is  in 
the  question  before  us.  If  any  man  shall  hear  of  this  day's  trans- 
action, he  cannot  be  so  foolish  as  to  suppose  that  we  have  been 
confined  to  a  single  character  like  those  now  brought  before  you. 
No,  gentlemen,  i;ir  from  it— he  will  have  too  much  common  sense 
not  to  know,  that  outrages  like  these  are  never  solitary ;  that 
where  the  public  calamity  generates  imps  like  these,  their  number 
is  as  the  sands  of  the  sea,  and  their  fury  as  insatiable  as  its 
waves." 

The  jury  awarded  Mr.  Hevey  j6150  damages:*  out  of  Ireland 
this  verdict  excited  some  surprise  and  indignation,  feelings  which 
sufficiently  corroborate  Mr.  Curran's  assertion,  that  the  internal  con- 
dition of  his  country  was  but  little  known  in  the  sister  kingdom. 
A  story  of  such  complicated  sufferings  and  indignities  would  have 
found  a  far  different  reception  from  an  English  jury — but  the  plain- 
tiff in  this  action  was  a  person  to  whom,  in  Ireland,  it  would  have 
been  deemed  disloyal  to  have  gi'anted  a  just  remuneration.  Hevey 
was  suspected  of  disaffection  in  1Y98,  and  the  men  who  were  thus 
regardless  of  his  appeal  to  their  sympathy,  were  avenging  the 
popular  excesses  of  that  year. 

In  the  course  of  Mr.  Curran's  observations  upon  the  persecution 
of  his  dient  in  this  case,  he  took  an  occasion  of  introducing  a  hai)pv 

*  Plunket  was  counsel  for  Major  Sirr.  Despite  the  favourable  verdict,  Kevey  was 
ruined.  The  long  imprisonment  made  him  banl<rupt.  Poverty  and  sorro'v  broke  h!s 
mind  (said  Davis),  and  he  died  a  pauper  lunatic  shortly  after. — M, 


WILLIAM   GODWIN.  337 

and  well-mented  compliment  to  a  friend  and  a  man  of  genius. 
"No  country"  (said  he)  "governed  by  any  settled  laws,  or  treated 
with  common  humanity,  could  furnish  any  occurrences  of  such 
unpai-alleled  atrocity  ;  and  if  the  author  of  Caleb  Williams,  or  of 
the  Simple  Story,*  were  to  read  the  tale  of  this  man's  sufierings,  it 
might,  I  think,  humble  the  vanity  of  their  talents  (if  they  are  not 
too  proud  to  be  vain)  when  they  saw  how  much  more  fruitful  a 
source  of  incident  could  be  found  in  the  infernal  workino-s  of  the 
lioart  of  a  malignant  slave,  than  in  the  richest  copiousness  of  the 
most  fertile  and  creative  imagination." 

Amoiig  his  English  friends,  the  author  of  Caleb  Williams  was 
the  one  to  whom  Mr.  Currau,  during  the  last  twenty  years  of  his 
life,  was  the  most  attached,  and  in  whose  society  he  most  delighted. 
However  he  may  have  dissented  from  some  of  Mr.  Godwin's 
8|n'(...:-iiive  opinions,  he  always  considered  him  as  a  man  of  the 
!ii<jst  decidedly  original  genius  of  his  time,  and  uniformly  discoun- 
tenanced the  vulvar  clamour  with  which  it  was  the  fashion  to  assail 
liim.  'J'here  are  many  who  well  remt'inbci'  his  fcivour  and  elo- 
quence upon  this  topic,  the  tears  which  he  so  frcipiently  excited 
by  his  glowing  descriptions  of  the  private  excellencies  of  his  friend, 
and  of  the  manly,  philosophic  equanimity  by  which  he  triunq)hed 
over  eveiy  accident  of  fortune.  Mr.  Curj-an's  affection  and  respect 
were  not  unreturned — Mr.  Godwin  attended  him  in  his  last  illness, 
watched  over  him  till  lie  expii-e<l,  accompanied  him  to  his  grave, 
and  has  since  his  death  omitted  no  occasion,  in  public  or  private, 
of  honouring  his  memory .f 

*  Mrs.  Inclibald.— M. 

+  His  work,  Maiuieville,  is  dedicated  to  the  memory  of  Mr.  Ciirr.in,  "  the  sincerest 
friend  he  ever  had,"  a  tribute  of  generous  and  disinterested  regard,  of  wliich  the  motives 
are  above  all  suspicion.— C.  [Oodwin,  wlio  was  six  years  younger  than  Curran,  survived 
liim,  not  departing  this  life  until  l^iG.  At  the  time  when  Curran  complimented  Godwin, 
In  his  si>eecli  for  Hevey,  the  novelist,  who  w.is  on  a  visit  at  the  I'riory,  was  in  Court.  On 
returning,  Curran,  who  expected  at  least,  a  word  or  two  of  acknowledgment,  i\x  il  received 
none,  asked  Godwin  what  he  thought  of  the  trial  ?  "  Oh,"  said  Godwin,  "  I  had  forgot- 
ten. I  am  glad  th.it  I  heard  you,  as  I  liave  now  soiii«  i.Ua  o/yoiir  manner."  The  very 
last  note  written  by  Curraa  was  an  invitation  to  Charles  Phillips  to  meet  Godwin  at 
*nner."— M.] 

15 


338  LIFE  OF  CURRAJN". 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Mr.  Curi-an  visits  Pai-is — Letter  ti>  his  son — Insun-ection  of  1803 — Det'once  of  K.rwan— 
Death  of  Lord  Kilwarden— Intimacy  of  Mr.  Robert  Einmettin  Mr.  Ciirran's  family,  and 
its  consequences — Letter  from  Mr.  Eramett  to  Mr.  Curran — Letter  from  tlie  same  to  Mr. 
Richard  Curran. 

This  year  (1802)  Mi'.  CiuTan,  taking  advantage  of  the  short 
peace,  revisited  France.  His  journei^  thither  now  was  undertaken 
with  views  and  anticipations  very  ditierent  from  those  which  had 
formerly  attracted  his  steps  towards  that^  country.  He  had  this 
time  little  hope  of  any  gratification  ;  he  went  from  an  impulse  of 
melancholy  curiosity,  to  witness  the  extent  of  his  own  disappoint- 
nients,  and  to  ascertain  in  person  whether  anything  worth  saving, 
in  morals  and  institutions,  had  escaped  the  general  wreck ;  for  he 
was  amonof  those  whose  general  attachment  to  freedom  had  in- 
duced  them  to  hail  with  joy  the  first  prospects  which  the  revolu- 
tion seemed  to  open  upon  France.  His  own  early  admiration  of 
the  literary  and  social  genius  of  her  people  had  made  him  watch, 
with  the  liveliest  interest,  the  progress  of  their  struggles,  until 
they  assumed  a  character  which  no  honourable  mind  could  con- 
template without  anguish  and  horror. 

To  Mr.  Curran,  too,  every  painful  reflection  ujjun  the  destiny 
of  France  was  embittered  from  its  connexion  with  a  subject  so 
much  nearer  to  his  heart,  the  fate  of  Ireland :  for  to  whatever 
cause  the  late  rebellion  might  be  attributed,  whether  to  an 
untimely  and  intemperate  spirit  of  innovation  in  the  people,  oi-  to 
an  equally  violent  spirit  of  coercion  in  the  state,  it  was  in  the 
influence  of  the  French  revolution  that  the  origin  of  both  might 
be  found. 

It  will  be  seen,  from  some  passages  in  the  following  letter  to 


VISIT  TO  PARIS.  839 

one  of  his  sons,  that  he  found  little  in  France  under  its  consular 
government  to  diminish  his  regrets  or  justify  a  return  to  hope. 

"VA&13,  October  5, 1S02. 

"Dear  Richard, 

"  Here  I  am,  after  having  lingered  six  or  seven  days  very 
unnecessarily  in  London.  I  don't  know  that  even  the  few  days 
tnat  I  can  spend  here  will  not  be  enough  ;  sickness  long  and 
gloomy ;  convalescence  disturbed  by  various  paroxysms ;  relapse 
confirmed ;  the  last  a  spectacle  soon  seen  and  painfully  dwelt  upon. 
I  shall  stay  here  yet  a  few  days.  There  are  some  to  whom  I  have 
mtroductions  that  I  have  not  seen.  I  don't  suppose  I  shall  get 
myself  presented  to  the  consul.  Not  having  been  privately  bap- 
tized at  St.  James's  would  be  a  difficulty  ;  to  get  over  it  a  favour ; 
and  then  the  trouble  of  getting  one's  self  costumed  for  the  show; 
and  then  the  small  value  of  being  driven,  like  the  beasts  of  the 
field  before  Adam  when  he  named  them  ;  I  think  I  slia'n't  mind 
it.  The  character  of  this  place  is  wonderfully  diflerent  from  that 
of  London.  I  think  I  can  say  without  atfectation,  that  I  miss  the 
frivolous  elegance  of  the  old  times  before  the  Revolution,  and  that 
in  the  place  of  it  I  see  a  squalid,  beard-grown,  vulgar  vivacity; 
but  still  it  is  vivacity,  infinitely  preferable  to  the  frozen  and  awk- 
ward sulk  that  I  have  left.  Here  they  certainly  wish  to  be  happy, 
and  think  that  by  being  merry  they  are  so.  I  dined  yesterday 
with  Mr.  Fox,  and  went  in  the  evening  to  Tivoli,  a  great  planted, 
illuminated  gai'den,  where  all  the  bourgeoisie  of  Paris,  and  some  of 
better  description,  went  to  see  a  balloon  go  up.  The  aeronaut  was 
to  have  ascended  with  a  smart  girl,  his  bonne  amic ;  for  some 
reason  that  I  know  not,  some  one  else  went  up  in  her  place ;  she 
was  exti-emely  mortified  ;  the  balloon  rose,  diminished,  vanished 
into  night;  no  one  could  guess  what  might  be  its  fate,  and  the 
poor  dear  one  danced  the  whole  evening  to  shake  ofi"  her  melan 
choly. 

"I  am  glad  I  have  come  here.     I  entertained  many  ideas  cf  il, 


340  LIFE    OF   CURRAN. 

which  I  have  entirely  given  up,  or  very  much  indeed  altered. 
Never  was  there  a  scene  that  could  furnish  more  to  the  weeping 
or  the  grinning  philosopher ;  they  well  might  agree  that  human 
affairs  were  a  sad  joke''',  I  see  it  every  where,  and  in  every  thing. 
The  wheel  has  run  a  complete  round ;  only  changed  some  spokes 
and  a  few  '  fellows,'  very  little  for  the  better,  hut  the  axle  certainly 
lias  not  rusted ;  nor  do  I  see  any  likelihood  of  its  rusting.  At 
present  all  is  quiet  except  the  tongue,  thanks  to  those  invaluable 
protectors  of  peace,  the  army!  !  At  Tivoli  last  night  we  had  at 
least  an  hundred  soldiers,  with  fixed  bayonets.  The  consul  now 
lives  at  St.  Cloud  in  a  magnificence,  solitary,  but  still  fitting  his 
marvellous  fortune.  He  is  very  rarely  seen — he  travels  by  night 
— is  indefatigable — has  no  favourite,  &c. 

"  As  to  the  little  aftairs  at  the  Priory ,f  I  can  scarcely  conde- 
scend, after  a  walk  in  the  Louvre,  amid  the  spirit  of  those  arts 
which  were  inspired  by  freedom,  and  have  been  transmitted  to 
power,  to  tliink  of  so  poor  a  subject.  I  hope  to  get  a  letter  from 
you  in  London,  at  Osborne's,  Adelphi.  Many  of  the  Irish  are 
here — not  of  consequence,  to  be  in  danger  :  I  have  merely  heard 
of  them.  Yesterday  I  met  Arthur  O'Connor  in  the  street,  with 
Lord  and  Lady  Oxford.  Her  ladyship  very  kindly  pressed  me  to 
dine :  but  I  was  engaged.     I  had  bargained  for  a  cabriolet,  to  go 

♦  This  idea  occurs  again  in  a  speech,  delivei'ed  by  Mr.  Curran  two  years  subsequent 
to  the  date  of  the  above  letter.  "I  fiiiii,  my  lords,  I  have  undesignedly  raised  a  laugii. 
Never  did  I  less  feel  merriment — let  me  not  be  condemned — let  not  the  laugh  be  mistaken. 
Never  was  Mr.  Hume  more  just  than  when  he  says,  '  that  in  many  things  the  extremes 
are  nearer  to  one  another  than  the  means.'  Few  are  those  events,  that  are  produced  by 
vice  and  foil}',  whi<th  fire  the  heart  with  indifrnation,  that  do  not  also  shake  the  sides 
with  laughter.  So  wlien  the  two  famous  moralists  of  old  bshald  the  sad  spectacle  of  life, 
the  one  burst  into  laughter,  and  the  other  melted  Into  teais;  they  were  each  of  them 
right  and  equally  right. 

Si  credas  utrique 
Ues  sunt  humanoe  flebile  ludibrium. 

But  these  are  the  bitter  ireful  laughs  of  honest  indignation,  or  they  are  the  laughs  of 
hectic  melancholy  and  despair." — Speech  in  hehalfof  Mr.  Justice  Johnson, 

♦  Mr.  Curran's  country  seat  in  the  vicinity  of  Dublin. — C, 


OWEN  kiewan's  trial.  341 

and  see  my  poor  gossip.  Set  out  at  two  :  at  tlie  end  of  five  miles 
found  I  was  totally  misdirected — returned  to  St.  Denvs — ffot  a 
miserable  dinner,  and  was  fleeced  as  usual.  1  had  some  veno-eance 
of  ttie  rascal,  however,  by  deploring  the  misery  of  a  country  where 
a  stranger  had  nothing  for  his  dinner  but  a  bill.  You  feel  a 
mistake  in  chronology  in  the  two  "yesterdays;"  but,  in  fact,  ])ai't 
of  this  was  written  yesterday,  %nd  the  latter  part  now.  I  iiee<l  not 
desire  you  to  bid  any  one  remember  me  ;  but  tell  them  [  remem- 
ber them.     Say  how  Eliza  does.     Tell  Amelia  and  Sarah  I  do  not 

forget  them.     God  bless  you  all. 

"J.  P.  C." 

A  more  detailed  and  elaborate  exposition  of  Mr.  Curran's 
opinions  upon  the  condition  of  France  at  this  period,  and  upon  the 
merits  of  its  ruler's  system,  is  contained  in  a  speech  which  he 
made  the  following  year  iti  defence  of  Owen  Kirwan,*  one  of  the 
persons  engaged  in  the  insurrection  of  the  23d  of  July,  1803.  lie 
undertook  the  office  of  counsel  for  some  of  these  deluded  insur- 
gents, not  in  the  expectation  that  any  aid  of  his  could  save  them, 
but  because  it  afforded  him  an  opportunity  of  warning  his  country- 
men against  a  recurrence  to  such  fatal  entei'prises,  by  publicly 
protesting  against  their  folly  and  cnminality,  and  by  exposing  the 
fatuity  of  those  who  imagined  that  a  revolution,  achieved  by  the 
assistance  of  France,  could  have  any  other  eflfe(;t  than  that  of  sub- 
jecting  Ireland   to  the  merciless  control  of  that   power.      Ilis 


•  The  trial  of  Owen  Kirwan  arose  out  of  Robert  Emmett's  unsuccessful  attempt  at  a 
general  insurrection,  in  1S03.  The  revolt  was  over  almost  before  it  coininenced.  Govern- 
ment made  numerous  arrests.  A  special  commission  was  issued  for  the  trial  of  llic  priso- 
ners, and  the  judges  were  Lord  Norbury,  Mr.  Justice  Finucane,  and  Barons  George  and 
Daly.  Nineteen  persons  were  tried;  one  was  acquitted,  one  was  respited,  and  Robert 
Emmett,  with  sixteen  more,  were  convicted  and  executed.  Several  of  tlie  prisoners  were 
defended  by  Curran,  Vonsonby,  and  SFcNally;  but  Curran's  only  speech  was  for  Owen 
Kirw.%n,  who  was  convicted.  No  other  verdict  could  have  been  given  on  the  evidence, 
proof  being  given  of  the  outbreak,  and  of  Kirwan  (a  tailor  in  Plunket  street,  Dublin) 
having  turned  out  from  his  shop  with  a  piKC  on  his  shouliler,  at  the  bead  of  several  men. 
It  was  attempted  to  be  shown,  but  without  success,  that  Kirwan  had  slept  at  home  on  tlie 
night  In  question.    He  was  executed  on  September  3, 1808.— M. 


342  LIFE   OF   CtmRAN. 

opinions  and  advice  upon  this  subject  he  gave  at  considerable 
length  in  the  speech  alluded  to,  which,  independent  of  any  other 
claims  to  praise,  remains  an  honourable  testimony  of  his  pron-pt- 
ness  in  opposing  the  passions  of  the  peoj^le,  where  he  did  not  con- 
ceive that  they  were  the  necessary  result  of  more  reprehensible 
passions  in  a  higher  quarter.  He  has  hitherto»been  seen  almost 
uniformly  exclaiming  against  the  latter  as  the  principal  causes  of 
his  country's  disasters ;  it  is  therefore  due  to  him,  and  to  the  Gov- 
ernment of  1803,  to  g-ive  an  example  of  the  different  language  that 
he  used  where  he  considered  it  deserved. 

"  I  cannot  but  confess  that  I  feel  no  small  consolation  when  1 
compare  my  present  with  my  former  situation  upon  similar  occa- 
sions. In  those  sad  times  to  which  I  allude,  it  was  frequently  my 
fate  to  come  forward  to  the  sj)ot  where  I  now  stand,  with  a  body 
sinking  under  infirmity  and  disease,  and  a  mind  broken  with  the 
consciousness  of  public  calamity,  created  and  exasperated  by  pub- 
lic folly.  It  has  pleased  heaven  that  I  should  live  to  survive  both 
these  afBictions,  and  I  am  grateful  for  its  mercy.  I  now  come  here 
through  a  composed  and  quiet  city — I  read  no  expression  in  any 
face,  save  such  as  marks  the  ordinary  feelings  of  social  life,  or  the 
various  characters  of  civil  occupation — I  see  no  frightful  spectacle 
of  infuriated  power  or  suffering  humanity— I  see  no  tortures — I 
hear  no  shrieks — I  no  longer  see  the  human  heart  charred  in  the 
flame  of  its  own  vile  and  paltry  passions,  black  and  bloodless, 
capable  only  of  catching  and  communicating  that  destructive  fire 
by  which  it  devours,  and  is  itself  devoured — I  no  longer  behold 
the  ravages  of  that  odious  bigotry  by  which  we  were  deformed, 
and  degraded,  and  disgraced ;  a  bigotry  against  which  no  honest 
man  should  ever  miss  an  opportunity  of  putting  his  countrymen, 
of  all  sects,  and  of  all  descriptions,  upon  their  guard. 

"  Even  in  this  melancholy  place  I  feel  myself  restored  and 
re  created  by  breathing  the  mild  atmosphere  of  justice,  mercy,  and 
humanity — feel  I  am  addressing  the  parental  authority  of  the  law. 
I  feel  I  am  addressing  a  jury  of  my  coimtrymen,  of  my  fellow-sub- 
jects, and  my  fellow-Christians,  against  whom  my  heart  is  waging 


emmett's  revolt.  343 

no  concealed  hostility,  from  whom  my  face  is  disguising  no  latent 
sentiment  of  repugnance  or  disgust.  I  liave  not  now  to  toiicli  ti;e 
high-raised  strings  of  an  angry  passion  in  those  that  hear  me;  nor 
have  I  tlie  terror  of  thinking,  that,  if  those  strings  cannot  bo 
snapped  by  the  stroke,  they  will  be  only  provoked  into  a  more 
instio-ated  vibration. 

"  I  have  heard  much  of  the  dreadful  extent  of  the  conspii-acy 
against  this  country,  of  the  narrow  escape  of  the  Government: 
you  now  see  the  fact  as  it  is.  By  the  judicious  adoption  of  a  mild 
and  conciliatory  system  of  (;onduct,  what  was  six  years  ago  a  for- 
midable rebellion  has  now  dwindled  down  to  a  drunken,  riotous 
insurrection — disgraced,  c<!rtainly,  by  some  odious  atrocities  :  its 
objects,  whatever  they  were,  no  doubt  highly  criminal;  but,  as  an 
attack  upon  the  state,  of  the  most  contemptible  insignificance. 

"I  have  no  pretension  to  be  the  vindicator  of  the  Lord  Lieu- 
tenant of  Ireland,  whose  person  I  do  not  know  that  I  have  ever 
seen ;  at  the  same  time,  when  I  am  so  necessai-ily  forced  upon  the 
subject,  I  feel  no  disposition  to  conceal  the  respect  and  satisfaction 
with  which  I  saw  the  King's  representative  comport  himself  as  he 
did,  at  a  crisis  of  no  little  anxiety,  though  of  no  considerable 
dano-er.  I  think  it  was  a  i)roof  of  liis  excellency's  fii-mness  and 
good  sense,  not  to  discredit  his  own  opinion  of  his  confidence  in 
the  public  safety,  by  an  ostentatious  display  of  unnecessary  open 
preparation;*  and  I  think  he  did  himself  equal  honour,  by  pre- 
serving his  usual  temper,  and  not  suftering  himself  to  be  exasper- 
ated by  the  event,  when  it  did  happen,  into  the  adoption  of 
any  violent  or  precipitate  measures.  Perhaps  I  may  even  be 
excused,  if  I  confess  that  I  was  not  wholly  free  from  some  profes- 
sional vainty  when  I  saw  that  the  descendant  of  a  great  lawyerf 

*  Preparation  was  7>ot  maile.  Hart  Emmett's  followers  congrepatoil  in  a  compact  force 
and  assailed  ttie  Castle,  it  must  have  been  taken  ;  for,  so  unprepared  was  the  Govern- 
ment, that,  whether  from  carelessness  or  design  there  was  not  a  single  ball  in  the  arsenal 
which  would  fit  the  artillery! — M. 

t  Lord  Uardwicke. — M. 


'64:4:  LIFE   OF  CDRRAN. 

was  capalile  of  remembering  what,  witliout  the  memory  of  such 
ail  example,  he  perhaps  might  not  have  done,  that,  even  in  the 
moment  of  peril,  the  law  is  the  best  safeguard  of  the  constitution. 
Al  all  events,  I  feel  that  a  man,  who,  at  all  times,  has  so  freely 
'^ensured  the  extravagancies  of  power  and  force  as  I  have  done,  is 
justified,  if  not  bound,  by  the  consistency  of  character,  to  give  the 
fair  attestation  of  his  opinion  to  the  exercis3  of  wisdom  and 
.nuraanity  wherever  he  finds  them,  whether  in  a  friend  or  in  a 
stranger." 

Upon  the  subject  of  the  mere  political  folly,  setting  even  apart 
all  moral  tie  of  duty  or  allegiance,  or  the  difficulty  or  the  danger  " 
of  Ireland's  desiring  to  separate  from  England,  and  fraternize  with 
France,  Mr.  Cnrran  observes,  "  Force  only  can  hold  the  acquisi- 
tions of  the  French  Consul,  What  community  of  interest  can  he 
have  with  the  different  nations  that  he  has  subdued  and  plmidered  ? 
clearly  none.  Can  he  venture  to  establish  any  regular  and  pro- 
tected system  of  religion  among  them  ?  Wherever  he  erected  an 
altar,  he  would  set  up  a  monument  of  condemnation  and  reproach 
upon  those  wild  and  fantastic  speculations  which  he  is  pleased  to 
dignify  with  the  name  of  philosophy,  but  which  other  men,  per- 
haps because  they  are  endowed  with  a  less  aspiring  intellect, 
conceive  to  be  a  desperate,  anarchical  atheism,  giving  to  every 
man  a  dispensing  power  for  the  gratification  of  his  passion,  teach- 
ing him  that  he  may  be  a  rebel  to  his  conscience  wth  advantage, 
and  to  his  God  with  impunity.  Just  as  soon  would  the  govern- 
ment' of  Britain  venture  to  display  the  crescent  in  their  churches, 
as  an  honorary  member  of  all  faiths  to  show  any  reverence  to  the 
cross  in  his  dominions.  Apply  the  same  reasoning  to  liberty.  Can 
he  venture  to  give  any  reasonable  portion  of  it  to  his  subjects  at 
home,  or  his  vassals  abroad?  The  answer  is  obvious:  sustained 
merely  by  military  force,  his  unavoidable  policy  is  to  make  the 
army  every  thing  and  the  people  nothing.  If  he  ventured  to  elevate 
b"s  soldiers  into  citizens  and  his  wretched  subjects  into  freemen, 


I'EANCE   AISTD   IRELAOT).  345 

be  would  form  a  confederacy  of  mutual  interest  between  both, 
ag-iinst  which  he  could  uot  exist  a  moment. 

"  I  may  be  asked  are  these  merely  my  own  speculations,  or  have 
others  in  Irelaml  adopted  them.  I  answer  freely,  non  mens  hie 
sernio  est.  It  is  to  my  own  knowledge,  the  result  of  serious  reHec- 
tion  in  numbers  of  our  countrymen.  In  the  storm  of  arbitrary 
sway,  in  the  distraction  of  torture  and  suffering-,  the  human  mind 
had  lost  its  poise  and  tone,  and  was  incaj^able  of  sober  reflection ; 
but,  by  removing  those  teri'ors  from  it,  by  hokling  an  even  liand 
between  all  parties,  by  disdaining  the  patronage  of  any  sect  or 
faction,  the  people  of  Ireland  were  left  at  liberty  to  consider  her 
real  situation  and  interest;  and  hapjuly  for  herself,  I  trust  in  God, 
she  has  availed  herself  of  the  opportunity.  With  respect  to  the 
higher  orders,  even  of  tliose  who  thought  they  had  some  cause  to 
complain,  I  know  tliis  to  be  the  fact — they  are  not  so  blind  as  not 
to  see  the  difference  between  being  proud,  and  jealous,  and  punc- 
tilious, in  any  claim  of  privilege  or  right  between  themselves  and 
their  fellow  subject.s,  ard  the  mad  and  desperate  depravity  of  seek- 
ing the  redress  of  any  dissatisfaction  that  they  might  feel,  by  an 
appeal  to  force,  or  the  dreadfid  recourse  to  treason  and  to  blood. 
As  to  the  humbler  order  of  our  people,  for  whom,  I  confess,  I  feel 
the  greatest  sympathy,  because  there  are  more  of  them  to  be 
undone — I  have  not  the  same  opportunity  of  Knowing  their  actual 
opinions;  but  if  their  opinions  be  other  thnn  I  thiidc  they  ought 
to  be,  would  to  God  they  were  present  in  this  j>lace,  or  that  I  had 
the  opportunity  of  going  into  their  cottages — and  they  well  know 
I  should  not  disdain  to  visit  tlienj,  aii<l  to  speak  to  them  the  lan- 
guage of  affection  and  candour  on  the  subject — 1  slmuld  have  little 
difliculty  in  showing  to  their  (juick  and  a|t[Meiiensive  minds  how 
easy  it  is,  when  the  heart  is  incensed,  to  confound  the  evils  which 
are  inseparable  fiom  the  destiny  of  imperfect  man,  with  those 
which  arise  from  the  faults  or  errors  of  his  political  situation.  I 
would  put  a  few  questions  tc  their  candid,  unadulterated  sense  :  Do 

15* 


S46  LIFE   OF   CUEltAi?. 

you  think  you  have  made  no  advance  to  civil  prosperity  within  the 
last  twenty  years?     Are  your  opinions  of  modern  and  subjugated 
France   the   same  that  you  entertained  of  popular  and   revolu- 
tionary France  fourteen  years  ago?     Have  you  anjf  hope,  that,  if 
the  lii'st  Consul  got  possession  of  your  island,  he  would  treat  you 
half  so  well  as  he  does  those  countries  at  his  door,  whom  he  must 
respect  more  than  he  can  respect  or  regaid  you  ?     Can  you  sup- 
pose that  the  perfidy  and  treason  of  surrendering  your  country  to 
an   invader  would,  to  your  new  master,  be  any  pledge  of  your 
allegiance  ?    Can  you  suppose  that,  while  a  single  French  soldier 
was  willing  to  accept  an  acre  of  Irish  ground,  he  would  leave 
that  acre  in  the  possession  of  a  man  who  had  shown  himself  so 
stupidly  dead  to  the  suggestions  of  the  most  obvious  interest,  and 
to  the  ties  of  the  most  imperious  moral  obligations  ?      Do"  you 
think  he  would  feel  any  kind-hearted  sympatliy  for  you  ?    Answer 
yourselves  by  asking,  what  sympathy  does  he  feel  for  Frenchmen, 
whom  he  is  ready  by  thousands  to  bury  in  the  ocean,  in  the  bar- 
barous gambling  of  his  wild  ambition  ?     "What  sympathy,  then, 
could  bind  him  to  you  ?     He  is  not  your  countryman  :  the  scene 
of  your  birth  and  your  childhood  is  not  endeared  to  his  heart  by 
the  reflection  that  it  was  also  the  scene  (.)f  his.      He  is  not  your 
fellow-Christian:  he  is  not.  therefore,  bound  to. you  by  any  simi- 
larity of  duty  in  this  world,  or  by  any  uin'on  of  hope  beyond  the 
grave;  what,  then,  could  you  suppose  the  object  of  his  visit,  or  the 
consequence  of  his  success?     Can  you  be  so  foolish  as  not  to  see 
that  he  would  use  you  as  slaves  while  he  held  you  ;  and  that  when 
he  grew  weary,  which  he  would  soon  be(5ome,  of  such  a  worthies, 
and  precarious  possession,  he  would  caiiy  you  to  market  in   jOiiie 
treaty  of  peace,  barter  you  tor  some  more  valuable  concession 
and  suirender  you  to  expiate  by  your  punishment  and  degrada- 
tion, the  advantage  you  had  given  him  by  your  follies  and  your 
crimes." 

The  particulars  of  the  scene  on  the  night  of  the  23d  of  July  are 


LORD  KlLWAEDEN.  347 

not  inserted  here.*  It  reseuiLled  a  riot  rather  than  insurrection, 
and  was  ahirmins)"  only  because  it  was  unexpected;  t'oi',  notwith- 
stauding  the  momentary  panic  which  it  excited,  in  a  few  hours  the 
public  tranquillity  was  restored ;  yet  however  imioi-uous  to  the 
state,  it  was  to  Ireland  a  great  calamity.  It  revived  and  contiriiu;d 
mjiny  sentiments  of  internal  animosity  and  distrust,  by  faiaily  prov- 
ing that  the  elements  of  disorder  were  not  extinct ;  it  violeniiy  toiu 
from  the  services  of  his  country  the  respected  Lord  Kil\var(len,one 
of  the  nost  upriglit  of  her  magistrates ;  the  wisest,  because  the 
gentlest,  in  her  councils;  the  man  who  of  all  others  least  required 
such  a  martyrdom  to  consecrate  his  name.  It  is  scarcely  necessary 
to  add,  that  to  Mr.  Curran  the  fate  of  a  pei'son  whom  lie  had  so 
long  loved  and  honoured,  and  who  in  the  season  of  trial  had  proved 
so  tender  a  friend  to  him,  and  to  their  common  country,  was  a 
source  of  profound  and  lasting  afflit;tion.f 


*  The  account  of  the  phin  of  insurrection,  drawn  up  by  Mr.  Robert  Emmett  durioj;  his 
Imprisonment,  has  been  published.— C. 

t  It  is  univeraally  agreed  that  tlie  mur  Jer  of  this  excellent  man  was  tlie  unprcmeui- 
tated  act  of  a  ferocious  labble  ;  but  there  are  various  accounts  of  their  probable  motives 
in  wantonly  sacriricin?  so  upright  and  humane  a  judge  to  their  fury.  A  popular  expla- 
nation of  this  is,  that  that  tlie  perpetrators  mistook  lilni  for  another  person.  There  is  also 
an  accouut  which  adtnits  tlie  mistake  in  the  first  instance,  but  subjoins  other  particulars 
which  appear  sufficie-  tly  probable  ;  and  as  some  of  the  facts,  of  which  there  nv.  no  doubt, 
reflect  the  highest  honour  upon  Lord  Kilwardcn's  memory,  the  whole  shall  be  given 
here.  In  the  year  1795,  when  he  was  Attorney-General,  a  number  of  yuung  met  (all  of 
Thorn  were  between  the  age  of  fifteen  and  twenty)  were  indicted  for  hi?h  tr.asou. 
Upon  the  day  appointed  for  their  trial  they  appeared  in  the  dock,  wearing  sliirls  -Jith 
tuckers  and  open  collars,  in  the  manner  usual  with  boys.  When  the  Chief  .lustice  of  the 
King's  Bench,  before  whom  I  hey  were  to  to  be  tried,  came  into  court  and  observed  them, 
he  called  out,  "  Well,  Mr.  Attorney,  I  suppose  you're  ready  to  go  on  with  the  trial  of 
these  tuckered  traitors?"  The  Attorney-General  was  rea<ly,  and  had  attended  for  the 
purpose  ;  but  indignant  and  disgusted  at  hearing  such  language  from  the  Judgment  seat, 
he  rose,  and  replied,  "  No,  my  lord,  I  am  not  ready  ;  and,  (added  he,  in  a  low  tone  to 
one  of  the  prisoners'  counsel  who  was  near  him)  if  I  have  any  power  to  save  the  lives  of 
these  boys,  whose  extreme  youth  I  did  not  before  observe,  that  man  shall  never  have  the 
gratification  of  passing  sentence  of  death  upon  a  single  one  of  these  tuckered  traitors." 
He  performed  his  promise,  and  soon  after  procured  pardons  for  them  all,  ui")on  the  condition 
of  their  expatriating  themselves  for  ever ;  but  one  of  them  obstinately  refusing  to  accept  the 
pardon  upon  that  condition,  he  was  tried,  convicted  and  executed.  Thus  far  the  facts 
rest  upon  credible  authoriti^  ;  what  follows  is  given  as  an  unauthenticatcd  report.     After 


S48  LIFE  OP  CURRAN. 

But  it  was  not  solely  in  this  point  of  view  that  the  late  events 
aficoted  Mr.  Ciu'ran  :  there  Avere  some  accompanying  circumstances 
which  more  intimately  related  to  himself;  and  however  painful 
their  ictroduction  may  be,  it  yet  becomes  every  one  Avho  h^s  a 
seuf^o  of  liie  fidelity  which  is  due  to  the  public  whom  he  addresses, 
not  to  screen  himself  behind  his  personal  feeling-s,  where  a  parar 
m<.iu!it  duty  demands  their  sacrifice  ;  still  less  would  he,  upon  whom 
iliat  duty  at  present  devolves,  be  justified  under  such  a  pretext,  in 
leaving  the  possibility  of  any  misconce]>tion  or  reproach  regarding 
one  whose  memory  the  combined  sentiments  of  nature,  ot  country, 
and  of  individual  respect,  impel  him  to  clierish  and  revere.  In  the 
following  facts,  as  far  as  they  are  generally  connected  with  Mr. 
Curi-an,  thei'e  is  indeed  no  new  disclosure.  It  is  a  matter  of  noto- 
riety, that  at  this  period  liis  house  was  searched — tliat  he  appeared 
himself  before  the  members  of  the  Privy  Council ;  that  a  rumour 
prevailed,  to  which  his  political  enemies  gave  a  ready  credit,  and 
as  far  as  they  could,  a  confirmation,  that  he  was  personally  impli- 
cated in  the  recent  conspiracy.  To  be  silent,  therefore,  upon  a 
subject  so  well  known,  would  be  a  fruitless  ettbrt  to  suppress  it ;  to 
alhide  to  it  remotely  and  timidly  would  be  to  imply  that  the  wliole 
could  not  bear  to  be  told :  it  only  remains  then  to  give  an  explicit 
statement  of  the  particulars,  and  to  subjoin  one  oi-  two  original 
documents,  which  will  be  found  to  corroborate  it  in  every  essential 
point. 

The  projector  of  the  late  insurrection,  Mr.  Robert  Emraett,  who 
was  a  young  gentleman  of  a  highly  respectable  family,  of  very 
striking  talents  and  interesting  manners,  was  in  the  habit  of  visit- 

the  death  of  tliis  young  man,  his  relatives  (it  is  said)  readily  listening  to  every  misrepre- 
sentation whidi  flattered  their  resentment,  became  persuaded  that  the  Attorney-General 
had  selected  him  almie  to  suffer  the  utmost  severity  of  the  law.  One  of  these  (a  person 
named  Shannon)  was  an  insurgent  on  the  23d  of  July,  and  when  Lord  Kilwarden,  hearing 
the  popular  cry  for  vei  geance,  excliiiined  from  his  carriage,  "  It  is  I,  Kilwarden,  Chief 
Justice  of  the  King's  f  onch  !"  "Then,"  cried  out  Shannon,  "you're  the  man  that  I 
want !"  and  plunged  :i  pike  into  his  lordship's  body.  This  story  was  current  among  th» 
lowjr  orders  in  Dublin,  who  were  most  likely  to  know  the  fact.— 0. 


KOBERT   EMMETT.  349 

insr  at  Mr.  Ciirvan's  house  :  here  he  soon  formed  an  attachment  fo- 
[Sarah]  Mr.  Cairran's  youngest  daughter.  Of  the  progress  of  tha<; 
attachment,  and  of  the  period  and  occasion  of  his  divulging  it  to 
her,  Mr.  Emmett's  lettei's,  insei'ted  hereafter,  contain  all  that  is  to 
he  told.  It  is  necessary,  howev>.r,  to  add,  as  indeed  will  appear 
from  those  letters,  that  her  father  remained  in  total  ignorance  of 
the  motive  of  i\Ii.  Emmett's  visits,  untill  subsequent  events  mad 
it  known  to  all.  To  a  man  of  his  (jelebrity  and  attnictive  conversa 
tion,  there  seemed  nothing  singular  in  finding  his  society  cultivat- 
ed by  any  young  person  to  whoui  he  aflbrded  (as  he  so  generally 
did  to  all)  the  opportunities  of  enjoying  it.  As  tin;  periud,  how- 
ever, of  the  intended  insurrection  approached,  Mr.  Curran  began 
to  suspect,  from  minute  indications,  which  would  piobably  have 
escaped  a  less  skilful  observer,  tliat  his  young  visiter  was  actuated 
by  some  strong  passions,  wdiich  it  cost  him  a  perpetual  etibrt  to 
conceal ;  and  in  consequence,  without  assigning  to  tliose  appear- 
ances any  precise  motive,  or  giving  the  subject  much  attention,  he, 
in  general  terms,  recommended  to  his  family  not  to  allow  what 
was  at  present  only  a  casual  acquaintance  to  ripen  into  a  greater 
degree  of  intimacy. 

Upon  the  failure  of  tlie  insurrection,  its  leader  escaped,  an(J 
succeeded  for  some  weeks  in  secreting  liimself.  There  is  reason 
to  believe,  that  had  he  attended  solely  to  his  safety,  he  could  have 
easily  effected  his  departui-e  from  the  kingd(im ;  but  in  the  same 
spirit  of  romantic  enthusiasm  which  distinguished  his  short  career, 
he  could  not  submit  to  leave  a  country  to  which  he  could  never 
more  return,  without  making  an  effort  to  have  one  final  inttTview 
with  the  object  of  his  unfortunate  attachment,  in  onler  to  receive 
her  personal  forgiveness  for  what  he  now  considered  as  the  <leep- 
est  injury.  It  was  apparently  with  a  view  to  obtaining  this  last 
gratification  that  he  selected  the  place  of  concciliucnt  in  which 
lie  was  discovered :  he  was  arrested  in  a  house  situated  midway 
between  Dublin  and  Mr.  Curran's  country  seat.  Upon  his  person 
•were  found  some   papers,  which  showed  that  subse(|uent  to  the 


350  LIFE   OF   CTJRRA2T. 

insurrection  lie  had  corresponded  with  one  of  that  gentleman's 
family :  a  warrant  accordingly  followed  as  a  matter  of  course,  to 
examme  Mr.  Curran's  house,  where  some  of  Mr.  Emmett's  letters 
were  found,  whicli,  together  with  the  documents  taken  upon  his 
person,  placed  beyond  a  doubt  his  connection  with  the  late  con- 
spiracy, and  were  afterwards  used  as  evidence  upon  his  trial. 

It  was  from  this  legal  proceeding  tliat  Mr.  Curran  received  the 
first  intimation  of  the  melancholy  attachment  in  which  one  of  his 
cliildren  had  been  involved.  This  is  not  the  place  to  dwell  upon 
the  agony  which  such  a  discoveiy  occasioned  to  the  private  feelings 
of  the  father.  It  was  not  the  pri\ate  calamity  alone  which  he  had 
to  dc[)lore;  it  came  oubittored  by  other  circumstances,  which, 
for  tlio  moment,  gave  his  sensibility  an  intenser  shock.  He  was  a 
prominent  public  character,  and  from  the  intrepid  resistance  which 
he  had  uniformly  made  in  the  senate  and  at  the  bar  to  the  unconsti- 
tutional measures  of  the  state,  was  inevitably  exposed  to  the 
political  hatred  of  many,  who  would  have  gloried  in  the  nun  of 
his  reputation  as  in  a  decisive  triumph  over  those  princii)les  which 
he  had  all  his  life  supported.  He  had  seen  and  experienced  too 
iriuch  of  party  calumny  not  to  apprehend  that  it  would  show  little 
r.cj-pect  for  a  misfortune  which  could  aflbrd  a  pretext  for  accusa- 
tion;  and  however  secure  he  miglit  feel  as  to  the  final  results  of 
tlie  most  merciless  investigation,  he  still  could  not  contemplate 
without  anguish  the  possibility  of  having  to  sutler  the  "humiliation 
of  an  acquittal."  But  his  mind  was  soon  relieved  from  all  such 
distressing  anticipations.  lie  waited  upon  the  Attorney-General,* 
and  tendered  his  person  and  papers  to  abide  any  inquiry  which  the 
government  might  deem  it  expedient  to  direct.  That  officer 
entered  into  his  situation  with  the  most  prompt  and  manly 
sympathy,  and  instead  of  assuming  the  character  of  an  accuser  of 

*  The  riflit  honourable  Standish  O'Grady,  the  present  Chief  Baron  of  the  Exchequer  in 
Ireland.— 0.  [Standish  O'Grady,  was  created  Baron  O'Grady  of  Rockbarton,  and 
Viscount  GLiillamore,  of  Caher  Guillamore,  in  the  County  of  Limerick,  in  1831,  when  he 
quilted  the  Bench.     He  died  in  April,  1S40,  aged  74  years.—M.] 


CURRAN  f5USPE0TED.  351 

the  father,  move  generously  displayed  his  zeal  in  interceding  for 
the  child.  At  his  instance  Mr.  Ciirran  accompanied  him  to  the 
Privy  Council.  Upon  his  first  entrance  there  was  some  indication 
of  the  hostile  spirit  which  he  had  originally  apprehended.  A 
noble  lord,  who  at  that  time  held  the  highest  jiun'c'a!  situation  in 
Ii'eland,*  undertook  to  examine  him  upon  the  transaction  whi(;h 
had  occasioned  his  attendance.  To  do  this  was  undoubtedly  his 
duty;  but  overstepping  his  duty,  or  at  least  his  prudence,  he 
thought  proper  to  preface  his  intended  questions  by  an  auster* 
aulhcritative  air,  of  which  the  palpable  meaning  was,  that  Le 
considered  intimidation  as  the  most  eftectual  mode  of  extractin<r 
the  li'iith.  He  fixed  his  eye  upon  Mr.  Curran,  and  was  proceeding 
to  cross-examine  his  countenance,  when  (as  is  well  remembered  by 
tlie  spectators  of  the  scene)  the  swell  of  indignation,  and  the 
glance  of  stei-n  dignity  and  contempt  which  he  encountered  there, 
gave  his  own  nerves  the  sliock  which  he  had  meditated  for 
another's,  and  compelled  him  to  shrink  back  into  his  chair,  silent 
and  disconcerted  at  the  foilure  of  his  rash  experiment.  With  this 
single  exception,  Mr.  Curran  was  treated  with  (lie  utmost  delicacy; 
fur  tliis  he  was  principally  indebted  to  the  fi-iendship  of  the 
Attorney-General,  who  finding  that  every  inquiry  and  document 
upon  the  subject  explained  all  the  circumstances  beyond  the 
possibility  of  an  unfavourable  conjecture,  humanely  and  (where  it 
was  necessary)  fii-mly  iuterjiosed  his  .Mithority,  to  save  the  feelings 
of  the  parent  from  any  additional  affliction. 

The  following  are  the  letters  which  it  seoiils  requisite  to 
ii.lrodiKH!.  There  was  a  time  when  the  publication  of  tiiem 
woidd  liave  excited  pain,  but  ll.at  lime  is  ]>ast.  The  only  persons 
[o  whom  siu'li  a  proceeding  could  have  given  a  pang,  the  father 
and  Uie  child,  are  now  beyond  its  reach  ;  and  their  survivor,  who 
from  a  sense  of  duty  permits  them  to  see  the  light,  does  so  undei 
a  full  persuasion,  that  all  those  who  from  personal  knowledge,  oi 

*  Tbe  Earl  of  Clare,  !»is  oM  autagonist.— M. 


352  LIFE   OF   CUERAN. 

fi'om  report,  may  sometimes  recall  their  memories  with  sentiments 
of  tenderness  or  esteem,  will  find  nothino-  in  the  contents  of  those 
doemneuts  which  can  provoke  the  intrusion  of  a  harsher  feeling. 

FROM    MR.    KOBEUr    EMMETT    TO    JOHN    PHILPOT    CURRAN,    ESQ. 

"  I  did,  not  expe^-t  you  to  be  ray  counsel.*     I  nominated  you 
because  not  to  liave  done  so  might  have  appeared  remarkable. 

Had  Mr. been  in  town,  I  did  not  even  \vish  to  have  seen 

yoa  ,  but  as  he  v.-as  not,  I  wi-ote  to  you  to  come  to  me  once.  I 
I'-uow  that  I  lia\e  done  you  veiy  severe  injury,  much  greater  than 
1  can  atone  for  with  my  life  :  that  atonement  I  did  otter  to  make 
before  the  Privy  Council,  by  pleading  guilty,  if  those  documents 
were  suppressed.!  J.  ofl'ered  more — I  ottered,  if  I  was  permitted 
to  consult  son:io  persons,  and  if  they  would  consent  to  an  accom- 
modation for  saving  the  lives  of  others,  that  I  would  only  require 
for  my  part  of  it  the  suppression  of  those  documents,  and  that  I 
would  abide  the  event  of  my  own  trial.  This  also  was  rejected; 
and  nothing  but  individual  information  (with  the  exception  of 
names)  would  be  taken.     My  intention  was,  not  to  lea\e  the  sup- 

*  Curran  had  originally  been  named  as  ono  of  Einmett's  counsel,  but  the  delicacy  of  his 
siluation  forbade  his  acting.  He  had  the  higtiest  ojiiiiion  of  him,  and  subsequently  said: 
"  I  would  have  believed  the  word  of  Eramctt  as  soon  as  the  oaUi  of  any  man  I  ever 
knew."— M. 

t  His  letters  to  Sarah  Curran. — In  fact,  the  letters  were  not  brought  before  the  Court, 
on  the  trial,  and,  in  fulfilment  ••!  the  compact,  Emniett  maile  no  legal  defence.  His 
celebrated  speech  wns  (f_/i(-/' co!'.'.-!i;tl()n,  when  he  was  c.-i'.lei;  u]>  to  oiler  any  cause  why 
sentence  shou'd  not  be  passfd.  The  reader  of  Washington  Irving  (the  whole  world),  will 
recollect  that  the  unlia))p.'."  ".i^•c(^  ^A  Kmmelt  and  S.'irali  Curran,  supplied  a  subject  for  one 
of  the  most  touching  and  p.'.SLetic  papers  in  "  The  SUetch  Bocjk."  After  Einmett's  execu- 
tion, home  became  ch'.rged  to  Sarah  Currrm,  and  she  wont  to  live  in  the  house  of  Mr. 
Penrose  near  Cork.  TliCi--.,  Captain  Sturgeon  pve\aile(l  upon  her  to  m;:rry  him,  which  she 
did,  telling  him  that  her  alfections  were  in  the  grave.  He  took  her  to  Sicily,  where,  in  a 
few  months,  she  died  uf  a  broi.iin  heart.  Captain  Sturgeon,  who  survived  her  several 
years,  was  killed  in  hatile  during  tlv.'  renin.^iilar  War, — Emmett  wore  a  tre?3  of  her  hair 
next  his  heart,  when  he  ws,&  ex.jcuted  ;  and,  only  an  hour  before  his  death,  he  bade  her 
farewell  in  this  brief  no*e,  "  My  love,  Sarah  !  it  was  not  thus  that  I  thought  to  have 
requited  your  affection,  I  did  !iOji.j  to  be  a  prop  around  which  your  affections  might  have 
clung  and  wliich  never  have  been  shaken  ;  but  a  rude  blast  lias  snapped  it,  aO(l  they  hav* 
fallen  over  a  grave  !" — He  died,  an  he  had  liveJ,  fearlessly. — SJ, 


emmett's  letters.  353 

pression  of  those  documents  to  possibility,  but  to  render  it  unneces- 
sary for  any  one  to  plead  for  me,  by  pleading  guilty  to  the  charge 
myself. 

"  The  circumslances  that  I  am  now  going  to  mention,  I  do  not 
state  in  my  own  justification.  When  I  first  addressed  your 
daughter,  T  expected  that  in  another  week  my  own  fate  would  be 
decided.  I  knew  that  in  case  of  success,  many  others  might  look 
on  me  differently  from  what  they  did  at  that  moment ;  but  I  speak 
with  sincerity,  when  I  say  that  I  never  was  anxious  for  situation 
or  distinction  myself,  and  I  did  not  wish  to  be  united  to  one  who 
was.  I  spoke  to  your  daughter,  neither  expecting,  nor,  in  fact, 
under  those  circumstances  .wishino-  that  there  should  be  a  return 
of  attachment ;  but  wishing  to  judge  of  her  dispositions,  to  know 
how  far  they  might  be  not  untavourable  or  disengaged,  and  to 
know  what  foundation  I  miafht  afterwards  liave  to  count  on.  1 
received  no  encouragement  whatever.  She  told  me  that  she  had 
no  attachment  for  any  person,  nor  did  she  seem  likely  to  liave  any 
that  could  make  her  wish  to  quit  you.  I  staid  away  till  the  time 
had  elapsed  wlien  I  found  that  the  event  to  which  I  allude  was  to 
be  postponed  indefinitely.  I  returned  by  a  kind  of  infatuation, 
thinking  that  to  myself  -only  was  I  giving  pleasui'c  or  pain.  I 
perceived  no  i)rogress  of  attachment  on  her  part,  nor  anylhing  in 
her  conduct  to  distinguish  me  from  a  comn\on  af(piaintance. 
Afterwards  I  had  reason  to  suppose  that  discoveries  were  made, 
and  I  sliould  be  obliged  to  quit  the  kingdom  immeiliately ;  and  I 
came  to  make  a  renunciation  of  any  ap})roach  to  friendship  that 
might  have  been  formed.  On  that  very  day  she  lierself  spoke  to 
me  to  discontinue  my  visits;  I  told  lni-  that  it  was  my  intention, 
and  I  mentioned  the  reason.  I  then,  for  the  first  time,  found, 
when  I  was  unfortunate,  by  the  manner  in  wliirli  she  was  affected, 
that  there  was  a  return  of  aftection,  and  that  it  was  too  late  to 
retreat.  My  own  ap[)rehensions,  also,  I  afterwards  found,  were 
without  cause,  and  I  remained.  There  lias  been  much  culpability 
on  my  part  in  all  this,  but  there  has  also  been  a  great  deal  of  thai 


35 


J-  LIFE    OF   CUKRAN. 


misfortune  whicii  seems  uniformly  to  have  accompanied  me. 
That  I  have  written  to  your  daughter  since  an  unfortunate  event 
has  taken  place,  was  an  additional  breach  of  propriety,  for  which 
T  have  sutfered  well ;  but  I  will  candidly  confess,  that  I  not  only 
do  not  feel  it  to  have  been  of  the  same  extent,  but  that  I  consider 
it  to  have  been  unavoidable  after  what  had  passed ;  for  though  I 
will  not  attempt  to  justify  in  the  smallest  degree  my  former 
conduct,  yet  when  an  attachment  was  once  formed  between  us — 
and  a  sincerer  one  never  did  exist — I  feel  that,  peculiarly  circum- 
stanced as  I  tlien  was,  to  have  left  her  uncertain  of  my  situation 
would  neither  have  weaned  her  affections,  nor  lessened  her 
anxiety ;  and  looking  upon  her  as  one,  whom,  if  I  had  lived,  1 
hoped  to  have  had  my  partner  for  life,  I  did  hold  the  removing 
her  anxiety  above  every  other  consideration.  I  would  rather  have 
had  the  affections  of  your  daughter  in  tlie  back  settlements  of 
America,  than  tlie  first  situation  tliis  country  could  atford  without 
them.  I  know  not  whether  this  will  be  any  extenuation  of  my 
ofience — I  know  not  whether  it  will  be  any  extenuation  of  it  to 
know,  that  if  I  had  that  situation  in  my  power  at  this  moment,  I 
would  relinquish  it  to  devote  my  life  to  her  happiness — I  know 
not  whether  success  would  have  blotted  out  the  recollection  of 
what  I  have  done — but  I  know  that  a  man,  with  the  coldness  of 
death  on  him,  need  not  be  made  to  feel  any  other  coldness,  and 
that  he  may  be  spared  any  addition  to  the  misery  he  feels  not  for 
himself,  but  for  those  to  whom  he  has  left  nothing  but  sorrow."* 

FROM  THK  SAME  TO  RICHARD  CURRAN,  KSQ. 
"  MY  DEAREST  RICHARD, 

"  I  find  I  have  but  a  few  hours  to  live,  but  if  it  was  the  last 
moment,  and  that  the  power  of  utterance  Avas  leaving  me,  I  wouli 


'The  original,  from  wliii-h  the  above  has  been  copied,  is  not  signed  or  dated.    It  wal 
written  in  the  interval  between  Mr.  Kmrnett's  conviction  and  execution.— C. 


ROBEET   EMMETT.  355 

tbank  you  fi'oin  the  hottxMii  of  my  heart  for  your  generous  expres- 
sions of  affection  and  forgiveness  to  me.  If  there  was  any  one  in 
the  world  in  wliose  bi-east  my  death  might  be  supposed  not  to  stifle 
every  spark  of  resentment,  it  niiglit  be  you  ;  I  have  deeply  injured 
you;  I  have  injured  the  happiness  of  a  sister  that  you  love,  and 
who  was  formed  to  give  happii.oss  to  every  one  about  her,  instead 
of  having  her  own  mind  a  pray  to  affliction.  Oh  !  llichard,  I  have 
no  excuse  to  offer,  but  that  I  uioant  t lie  reverse ;  I  intended  as 
much  happiness  for  Sarah  as  the  most  ardent  love  could  have 
given  her.  I  never  did  tell  you  how  much  I  idolised  her  :  it  was 
not  with  a  wild  or  unfounded  passion,  but  it  was  an  attachment 
iiici-easing  eveiy  hour,  from  an  admiration  of  tlie  jnirity  of  her 
mind,  and  respect  for  her  talents.  I  did  dwoll  ivi  secret  u])on  the 
prospect  of  our  union.  I  did  hope  that  suc(*.ess,  while  it  afforded 
the  opportunity  of  our  union,  might  be  the  means  of  confirming  an 
attachment  which  misfortune  had  called  forth.  I  diil  not  look  to 
honours  for  myself — praise  I  would  liave  asked  from  the  lips  of  no 
man ;  but  I  would  have  wished  to  read  in  the  glow  of  Sarah's 
countenance  that  her  husband  was  respected,  ^fy  love,  Sarah  !  it 
was  not  thus  that  I  thought  to  liave  requited  your  affection.  I  did 
hope  to  be  a  prop  round  which  your  aft'ections  might  have  clung, 
and  which  would  never  have  been  shaken ;  but  a  rude  blast  lias 
.snapped  it,  and  they  have  fallen  over  a  grave.* 

"This  is  no  time  for  affliction.  I  have  liad  public;  motives  to 
sustain  my  mind,  and  I  have  not  suffered  it  to  sink,  but  there  have 
been  moments  in  my  imprisonment  when  my  mind  was  so  sunk 
by  grief  on  her  account,  that  death  would  have  been  a  refuge. 

"  Cod  bless  you,  my  dearest  llichard.      I  am  obliged  to  leave 

off  immediately. 

"  Robert  Emmett." 


♦  In  1S47  a  London  journal  mentioning  the  death  of  Miss  Curran,  at  Home,  declared 
that  the  lady  waa  "  tlie  betrothed  of  Robert  Kniniett,"  and  the  heroine  of  Moore's  song 
and  Irving's  toueliing  story.  This  was  an  error.  It  waa  Amelia,  Curran's  eldest  daughter, 
who  thus  died  at  Rome,  llis  youngest  daughter,  Sarah,  had  passed  away  some  thirty 
years  before. — M, 


356  LIFE   OF   CUKRAN. 

This  letter  was  written  at  twelve  o'alojk  on  ihe  day  of  Mi, 
Emmett's  execution,*  and  the  firmness  and  regularity  of  tlie  origi- 
nal liand-writting  contain  a  striking  and  attecting  proof  of  the 
little  influence  which  the  approaching  event  had  over  his  frame. 
The  saijie  enthusiasm  which  alhip-/.  him  to  his  destiny,  enabled 
him  to  support  its  utmost  I'igour.  lie  met  liis  fate  with  unosten- 
tatious fortitude ;  and  although  'ew  could  ever  think  of  justifying 
his  projects  or  regreting  tlio'i  failure,  yet  his  youth,  his  talents, 
the  great  respectability  of  his  connexions,  and  the  evident  delusion 
of  which  he  was  the  vi;,:im,  have  excited  more  general  sympathy  for 
his  unfortunate  end,  and  more  fi)rbearance  toward  his  memory,  than 
IS  usually  extended  to  the  ei'rors  or  sufterings  of  political  ofienders.j 

*  The  best  account  of  Emmett's  trial  is  given  by  Dr.  Madden.  lie  pleaded  "  Not  guilty," 
but  made  no  defence.  Nor,  in  his  speech  after  conviction,  did  he  allude  to  Plunket. 
O'Grrady  was  Attorney-General,  James  McClelland  was  Solicitor  General,  and  it  was  hia 
duty  to  speak  to  evidence.  But  Plunket  performed  that  task — and  is  accused  of  having 
volunteered  to  do  it.  Neither  of  the  two  law  officials  had  thought  it  necessary  to  speak 
— so  clear  was  the  case  against  Eramett,  but  Plunket  (as  one  of  his  own  biographers  ad- 
aiits)  "  assailed  the  sad  enthusiast,  in  that  form  of  his  deepest  suffering,  iu  a  theme  of 
invective  which  might  well  have  been  spared."  It  v.'ould  seem  as  if  Plunket  wished  to 
show  how  h!a  Own  strong  liberality  had  declined  down  to  the  Qovernraeat  gauge.  In  two 
months  from  that  date,  Plunket  was  in  office  as  Solicitor-General. —  M. 

t  In  Ireland,  the  Emmett  family  have  invariably  spelled  their  name  with  a  double  t 
In  this  country,  they  have  economized,  and  write  Emmet. — M. 


CtTURAN'8   DOMESTIC    AFFAIRS.  357 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

Mr.  CurrMii's  JohiclMc  sffairs — Forensic  efforts— Appointed  Mrsterof  tlie  lloll-i  in  Ireland 
— Uis  literary  prelects— Letter  to  Mr.  M'Nally— Account  of  a  visit  to  Scotland  in  a  letter 
to  Miss  I'liilpot— I^etter  to  Mr.  Leslie — Letters  to  Mr.  Iletliuriuj'jja. 

[Tnis  seems  to  l)o  the  proper  place  to  iiitroJiicc  a  notice  of  Mr. 
Currau's  domestic  relt-tions,  Avliicli  it  was  very  panloiial>le  in  his 
son,  to  have  avoided  any  mention  of.  Ilis  two  other  biographers, 
I'hillips  and  Clicgar.,  were  not  in  a  situation  to  be  affected  by 
snch  delicacy,  and  have  spoken  what  they  knew.     I'hiliips  savs: — 

"There  is  no  duubl  there  were  times  when  he;  was  subject  to 
the  most  extreme  despondency;  but  the  origin  of  tliis  was  visible 
enough,  without  liaving  recourse  to  any  mysterious  inquiries.  It 
was  the  case  with  him  as  it  is  with  every  person  whose  spirits  arc 
apt  to  be  occasionally  e.\i;ited — the  depression  is  at  intervals  in 
exact  proportion.  Like  a  bow  overstrained,  liie  mind  rchixes  in 
consequence  of  the  exertion.  He  \va.:  natmally  exticmely  sensi- 
tive— domestic  misfortunes  rendered  his  home  unhappy — he  tlew 
for  a  kind  of  refuge  into  public  life;  and  the  political  ruin  of  his 
country,  leaving  him  without  an  ol)ject  of  pr'va.e  enjoyment  or  of 
pati'iotic  hope,  flung  him  upon  his  own  heart-devouring  reflec- 
tions. He  was  at  those  times  a  striking  instance  of  his  own 
remark  upon  the  disadvantages  attendant  upon  too  relhied  a  sensi- 
bility. 'Depend  upon  it,  my  dear  friend,'  .«;aid  he,  'it  is  a  serious 
misfortune  in  life  t<i  have  a  mind  more  sensitive  or  more  cultiva- 
ted tlian  co'-.imon;  it  naturally  elevates  its  possessor  into  a  region 
which  he  uuist  be  doomed  to  find  nearly  uninhuhUedP  It  was  t 
deplorable  thii!g  to  see  him,  in  the  decline  of  life,  when  visited  by  this 
constitutional  melancholy.     I  have  not  unfreipiently  accompanied 


«^^3  LiFR   OF   CURIiAi?. 

him  in  his  Avalks  upon  such  occasions,  ahnost  at  the  hour  of  mid- 
night.    He  had  gardens  attached  to  the  Priory,  of  which  he  was 
particularly  fond;   and  into  these  gardens,  when  so  attected,  no 
matter  at  what  hour,  he  used  to  ramble.     It  was  then  almost 
impossible  to  divert  his  mind  from  themes  of  sadness.     The  gloom 
of  his  own  thoughts  r'iscolored  everything,  and  from  calamity  tr 
calamity  he  would  wander  on,  seeing  in  the  future  nothing  for 
hope,  and  in  the  past  nothing  but  disappointment.     You  could 
not  recognize  in  nim  the  same  creature  who,  but  an  hour  pi"t;ce- 
ding,  had  'set  the  table  in   a  roar' — his  gibes,  his  merriment,  his 
flashes  of  wit,  were  all  extinguished.     He  had  a  favorite  little 
daughter,  who  was  a  sort  of  musical  prodigy.     She  had  died  at 
the  age  of  twelve,  and  he  had  her  buried  in  the  midst  of  a  small 
grove  just  adjoining  this  garden.     A  little  rustic  memorial  was 
raised  over  her,  and  often  and  often  have  I  seen  him,  the  tears 
'chasing   each  other'   down  his  cheeks,  point  to  his  daughter's 
monument,  and  'wish  to  be  with   her,  and  at  rest.'      Such,  at 
times,  was  the  man  before  whose  very  look  not  merely  gravity, 
but  sadness  has  often  vanished — who  has  o-iven  birth   to  moi-e 
erjoyment,  and  uttered  more  wit,  tlum  perhaps  any  of  his  contem- 
poraries in  any  country — who  had  in. him   materials  for  social 
happiness  such  as  we  can  not  hope  again  to  see  conrbined  in  any 
one;  and  whose  death  has  cast,  I  fear,  a  permanent  eclipse  upon 
the  festivities  of  his  cuvle.      Yet  even  these  melancholy  hours 
were  not  without  their  moral.     They  proved  tlie  nothingness  of 
this  world's  gifts— the  worse  than  inutility  of  this  world's  attain- 
ments;   they  forced   the  mind  into  involuntary  reflection;    they 
showed  a  fellow-creature  enriched  with  the  finest  natural  endow- 
ments, having  acquired  the  most  extensive  reputation,  without  a 
pecuniary  want  or  a  professional  rival,  yet  weighed  down  with  a 
constitutional  depression   that  left  the  poorest  wealtliy  and  the 
humblest  happy  in  the  comparison.     Nor  were  they  without  a 
kind  of  mournful  interest:  he  spoke  as  imder  such  circumstances 
no  human  being  but  himself  could  have  spoken — his  rnind  waa  so 


Ills   DOMESTIC   AI^VaIRS.  Sod 

very  strangely  constituted;  such  an  odd  niediey  of  tlie  romantic 
and  the  humorous;  now  soaring  into  reg'ons  of  light  and  sublim- 
ity for  illustrations,  and  now  burrowing  under  ground  for  such 
ludicrous  and  whimsical  examples;  drawing  the  most  strange 
inferences  from  causes  so  remote,  and  accompanied  at  times  with 
gestures  so  comic,  that  the  smile  ar  1  the  tear  often  irresistibly  met 
during  the  recital.  Perhaps,  aftCi  one  of  those  scenes  of  mii^rv, 
•when  he  had  walked  himself  th-ed  and  wept  himself  tearless,  he  would 
again  return  into  the  house,  where  the  picture  of  some  friend,  or 
the  contingency  of  some  accident,  recalling  an  early  or  festive 
association  would  hurry  him  into  the  very  extreme  of  cheerful- 
ness! llis  spii'its  rose — his  wit  returned — the  jest,  and  the  tale, 
and  the  anecdote  pushed  each  other  aside  in  a  almost  endless 
variety,  and  day  dawned  upon  him,  the  happiest,  the  pleasantest, 
and  the  most  fascinating  of  companions.  The  friends  whom  he 
admitted  to  intimacy  may  perhaps  recognize  him,  even  in  this 
hurried  sketch,  as  he  has  often  appeared  to  them  in  the  hospitali- 
ties of  the  Priory;  but,  alas!  tlie  look  all  eloquent — the  eye  of 
fire — the  tongue  of  harmony,  the  exquisite  address  that  gave  a 
charm  to  everything,  and  spell-bound  those  who  heard  him,  are 
gone  for  ever!" 

Tlie  domestic  misfortunes  which  rendered  his  liome  unhappy, 
are  thus  mentioned  by  O'Regan  ; — 

"Mr.  Curran  I'ad  been  married  very  early  to  a  Mi>s  Creagh,  of 
the  county  of  Cork,  with  whom  for  many  years  he  lived  very 
happily.  She  was  of  an  aiuifnt  atiil  hi^lilv  esteemed  family,  iiv 
the  neighbourhood  of  Newmarket.  llis  union  with  this  lady  wixs 
founded  on  ati'ection ;  her  fortune,  thougii  small,  yet  enabled  him 
to  pursue  his  career  of  study  atid  ambition,  and  took  off  many 
diHiculties  to  which  his  voutli  might  otherwise  have  been  ('X])osed. 
lie  built  on  a  glen  in  his  native^country  a  tasty  and  rather  an 
handsome  cottage,  which  he  called  the  Priori/.     Tliis  became  tlie 


360  LIF^   OF   CUREAif. 

residence  of  bis  family,  and  tlie  occasional  resort  of  many  of  tha 
first  men  of  Lis  time  and  of  his  country,  while  his  yet  limited 
fortune  did  not  permit  a  suitable  residence  in  the  capital.  From 
this  connection  commenced  under  the  happiest  auspices  of  mutual 
aftection,  afterwards  sprang  the  sorest  tortures  of  bis  life :  it  was 
here  began  the  tempest  to  his  soul.  He  had  many  cbildren  by 
this,  marriage ;  and  so  unhappy  became  his  mind  by  the  dishonour 
which  afterwards  ensued,  that  it  rent  asunder  the  finest  charities 
of  the  heart ;  and  for  ever  afterwards  were  broken  up  those  great 
ties  and  ligaments,  by  which  nature  binds  the  savage  and  the  sage 
in  delicious  bondage  to  the  sovereignty  of  this  protecting  con- 
trivance. Yet,  by  permitting  his  mind  to  dwell  too  ardently  on 
this  domestic  and  deplorable  calamity,  he  aj)pears  to  have  suftered 
under  its  influence,  and  to  have  permitted  his  own  peace  to  be 
poisoned.  These  matters  had  a  powerful  re-action  on  his  own 
happiness ;  and,  thus  swung  from  his  moorings,  he  seemed  never 
after  to  have  had  any  safe  anchorage  to  ride  upon.  It  is  true  his 
vivacity,  tliough  impaired,  was  not  extinguished ;  it  burst  forth 
like  gleams  of  light,  and  vanished;  its  fiery  ti'ack  left  a  buj-ning 
ember  after  it.  The  moral  aliment  by  which  he  was  accustomed 
to  be  nourished  was  gone,  or,  if  it  remained,  it  did  so  remain,  but 
to  sour  upon  his  stomach ;  and  to  the  morbid  state  of  the  affec- 
tions of  the  heart,  succeeded  a  distra(,-ting  and  a  malady  of  soul, 
for  which  society  gave  but  the  peace  of  its  presence.  Such  was 
the  distress,  so  deep  and  so  afflicting,  that  with  all  the  elasticity 
of  his  temperament,  it  took  him  years  to  consent  to  be  concerned 
in  actions  of  that  nature  which  unbound  his  own  wounds ;  and,  in 
his  own  words, '  let  in  the  brine  of  the  salt  sea  through  the  chinks 
of  a  vessel,  not  yet  sufficiently  staunched  or  seasoned  to  keep  jt 
out.'  At  length,  however,  he  conquered  those  sensations;  and 
we  find  him  the  advocate  in  the  famous  case  of  the  Rev.  Charles 
Maasy,  against  the  Mar(piis  of  Headford,  tried  at  Ennis,  in  the 
county  of  Clare,  in  July  1804,  where  damages  were  laid  at  £40,000 
and  c£l 0,000  were  recovered, — a  tribute'  to  eloquence;  but  bo\* 


AIRS.    CURRANT.  301 

call  money  ]ie;il  a  \voun.]<.'.l  spiiit?  Tliis  he  spoke  of  as  a  gigan- 
tic victory  over  liis  own  iL-yliiigs;  and,  in  this  trial,  the  pliilosopher 
niiirht  have  traced  the  Listorv  of  human  sufferin<;  aniiilst  the  most 
glowing  eloijiience;  he  could  have  deduced  what  might  have  sup- 
plied the  moral  chair  with  maxims  and  ilhisti'ations,  fresh  from 
the  mint  of  nature,  l»y  perci-iviiig  the  Fg'Hiies  of  two  sutierers 
identified  in  the  client  and  in  ihe  advocate,  licrc  he  had  nothing 
to  dramatize,  nothing  unreal,  lie,  limi  hut  to  spread  upon  the 
canvas  the  picture  of  woe  fanuHar  ti>  his  own  sufferings:  he  did 
so;  and  if  the  reporter  (the  editor  of  this  collection)  were  foithful, 
or  fortunate  to  preserve  the  genuine  features  of  the  figure,  such 
might  have  heen  placed  among  the  works  of  the  first  masters :  but 
to  those  who  heard  liim,  and  felt  the  effect  of  his  overwhelming 
elorpience,  to  such  it  was  as  electric,  and  as  afl'ecting  a  piece  of 
patlios,  as  ever  yet  was  addressed  to  human  feelings :  it  bore  down 
every  thing  before  it;  and  Ik;  who  wrote  was  often  suspended  in 
his  labours;  and  those  who  heard  it  were  entranced  and  amazed. 
Mr.  Curran  was  much  flattered  on  hearing  that  it  drew  tears  from 
the  eyes  of  our  gracious  Queen*  on  the  reatling  of  it.j      But,  had 

*  Charlotte  ;  wife  of  George  III. — M. 

+  Mr.  Phillips  states  that  a  few  years  after  this  speech  had  been  ilelivered,  Mr.  Curran 
was  inti-odiicecl,  through  the  jocularity  of  a  common  friend,  to  the  nohle  defendant,  in 
St.  James's  Street.  It  is  a  mistake  to  suppose,  as  has  been  asserted,  tliat  he  declined  all 
advocacy  in  actions  of  criminal  conversation  from  the  period  of  liis  own  domestic  calamity 
down  to  that  of  the  trial  for  Lord  Headford.  The  fact  is,  in  the  very  year  preceding,  lie 
obtained  one  tliousand  pounds  damages  in  the  case  of  I'entland  against  Clarke.  This 
case  is  not  reported  in  the  printed  volume,  but  it  was  tried  before  Lord  Avonmore,  Ihe 
very  same  judge  who  presided  on  the  lri:il  of  Mr.  Curran's  own  action.  The  chief  argu- 
ment agiiust  him  on  that  lamentahle  occ.-ision  was  his  alleged  inconstancy;  and  there  is 
a  most  curious  jiassage  in  the  speech  before  roe,  in  which  he  takes  occasion  to  anticipate 
that  ground  of  defense,  and  leaves  his  own  opinions  on  a  subject  (n  which,  wliettur 
justly  or  unjustly,  he  was  supposed  to  be  so  much  interested.  This  speech  is  very  little 
known. — "  There  is  a  species  of  defense,  which  perhaps  tlie  gentlemen  on  the  other  si>Ie 
may  attempt  to  set  up — I  mean  that  of  recrimination;  and  I  have  been  led  to  t\  ink  tliat 
acts  of  this  kind  proved  against  the  husband  ought  not  to  prevent  him  from  recovering 
damages  for  the  seduction  of  his  wife  ;  for  the  consequence  arising  from  illicit  connec- 
lionH  Is  widely  different  with  respect  to  the  husband  and  the  wife:  casual  revelry  and 
'immorality  in  the  husband  is  not  supposed  to  cast  an  indelible  disgrace  upon  the  wile, 
and  can  not  defraud  the  children  of  their  property,  by  introducing  a  spurious  offspring 

16 


362  LIFE   CJr   CtTRRAH. 

she  heard  it  delivered,  the  native  notes  of  Kotzebue  would  have 
been,  in  comparison,  but  mock  heroic.  Not  quite  apprised  how 
Queens  feel  upon  these  occasions,  certain  it  is,  that  her  humble 
subjects,  the  Eimis  ladies,  enjoyed  it  in  ti'ansports,  and  his  name 
resounded  throiio-h  the  I'ocks  and  m-oves  of  Edenvale. 

"In  the  action  for  criminal  conversation,  brought  by  Mr. 
C'lrran  against  the  Rev.  Mr.  Sandys,  (not  Sandes),  Lord  Clare 
was  supposed  not  to  be  an  inditierent  spectator.  It  was  on  this 
occasion  Mr.  Saurin's  talents  were  first  drawn  forth  in  a  statement 
for  defendant,  at  once  solid,  luminous,  and  vehement.  Lord 
Avonmore,  the  early  patron  and  friend  of  Mr.  Curran,  tried  the 
case ;  and,  in  its  progress,  many  interesting  and  affecting  scenes 
took  place ;  the  private  feelings  of  the  man,  his  known  partiality 
for  the  plaintiff,  though  occasionally  intei'rupted  by  some  small 
jealousies,  the  pity  for  his  sufferings,  frequently  burst  forth  in 
some  of  the  finest  touches  ever  witnessed ;  but  the  sense  of  justice, 
the  pride  and  purity  of  his  mighty  mind,  quickly  deposed  the 
brief  authority  of  the  most  generous  feelings;  and  the  judge, 
resuming  his  great  fimctions,  shook  off  the  dew-drops  from  the 
lion's  mane.  By  the  sovereignty  of  that  character  it  was,  that 
the  judge  alone  presided.  On  his  trial,  as  well  of  men  as  of  the 
case,  Mr.  Plunket,  (to  whom  Lord  Avonmore  had  been  a  fiiend, 
and  whose  infancy  had  been  protected  since  the  loss  of  his  father 
by  that  excellent  nobleman,  was  employed  on  the  part  of  Mr. 
Sandys.  Amidst  the  clashing  of  opposite  arguments,  and  many 
animated  contentions  with  Lord  Avonmore  sustained  for  a  long 
time  in  undecided  conflicts,  Mr.  Phmket  rallied  with  fresh  forces. 


a 


to  which  the  inEdelity  of  the  wife  may  lead.  Errors  of  this  kind  in  the  husband  mny  not 
arise  from  an  actuul  turpitude  of  heart ;  he  may  have  committed  errors  of  this  kind, 
and  yet  be  a  good  fulher  ;  he  may  be  a  pood  citizen,  he  may  be  a  good  Imsband,  not- 
witlistanding  be  may  not  be  entirely  wiUiout  blemish.  I  am  not  speaking  of  a  constant 
scene  of  riot  and  excessive  debauchery,  but  of  acts  which,  though  tliey  are  to  be  con- 
demned, it  is  possible  to  atone  for  by  subsequent  good  conduct.  Could  the  ill  conduct 
of  the  husband  entail  upon  the  wife  the  character  of  a  prostitute?  No.  But  the  conse- 
quences resulting  from  the  conduct  of  the  wife  are  of  a  very  different  nature  indeed." — M 


PROMOTION  TO  THE  BENcH.  3C3 

and  drew  upon  those  great  stores,  with  which  nature  has  so  abun- 
dantly supplied  him:  sometimes  playing  oft"  the  light  artillery  of 
that  wit,  which  his  pride  so  chastens,  that  it  lies  back  like  that 
recondite  matter  in  animal  natui'e  which  is  produced  for  susten- 
ance, but  upon  great  and  important  accasions ;  sometimes  riding 
on  the  wiry  edge  of  irony,  his  own  appropriate  figure ;  and  which 
nor  Swift  nor  Liician  ever  possessed  in  a  richer  vein.  In  the 
indulgence  of  some  of  those  sallies  thrown  oft'  in  the  impetuosity 
of  feeling,  the  ardent  sensibility  of  the  patron,  the  friend  and  the 
judge,  kindled,  and  rapidly  rising  into  one  of  tliose  impassioned 
blazes,  to  which  his  great  nature  was  subject,  he  burst  forth  into 
this  short  exclamation,  et  tu  fill — and  thou  also,  niij  son.  The 
efi'cct  was  overpowering  on  Mr.  Plunket;  the  sense  of  gratitude, 
the  reverence  for  the  venerable  judge  ;  the  obligations  imposed  on 
him  by  the  duty  he  owed  his  client,  and  other  emotions  of  a 
nobler  kind,  became,  by  their  varied  combinations,  irresistible; 
while  he,  overwhelmed  by  tiie  impetuosity  of  mingled,  yet  contra- 
dictory forces,  nuiflling  his  face  in  his  mantle,  sunk  down,  and  waa 
dissolved  in  tears — tears  more  creditable  to  him,  than  all  that 
eloquence,  less  popular  than  argumentative,  of  which  ho  of  most 
men,  may  be  tr.ily  said  to  be  one  of  the  greatest  masters. 

"Mr.  Curran  obtained  a  verdict,  and  damages,  which  the  defen- 
dant was  never  aftei'wards  called  upon  to  pay ;  he  was  scarcely 
ever  heard  of  after ;  wdnlst  the  unhajipy  woman,  sustained  by  the 
bounty  of  the  afflicted  husband,  made  the  best  atonement  by  a 
conduct  ever  after  without  rei)ronch  or  censure.  This  event  dis- 
coloured the  stream  of  his  future  life;  and,  from  the  change  in  his 
domestic  habits,  furnished  many  to})ics  fur  unkind  observation. 
It  is  certa-n  lie  did  not  refuse  to  h<'r  tlu^  consolation  of  a  re(|uested 
interview,  "-rben  she  lay  on  the  bed  of  sickness,  and,  as  she  thought, 
of  death.  If  he  did  not  totally  forget  the  injuries  he  luid  suftored, 
Lf  rienerously  consented  to  see  her,  which  she  sought  as  a  con- 
solation, and  which  to  him  was  the  severest  trial.  Tiiis  occurred 
in  London  some  years  after  the  action :  but  a  message,  announc- 


364  LIFE   OF   CtJREAiT. 

ing  the  certainty  of  her  recovery,  made  this  melanch.oly  vi&it 
unnecessary."] 

Upon  the  death  of  Mr.  Pitt,  *  [180G]  the  political  party  with 
whom  Mr.  Curran  had  so  long  been  acting  having  come  into  office, 
he  was  appointed  Master  of  the  Rolls  in  Ireland,  and  a  member 
of  the  Privy  Council,  f     With  this  appointment  he  was  dissatisfied 

*  In  the  interval  between  1S03  and  the  period  of  his  elevation  to  the  bench  (180G)  Mr. 
Curran  farther  distinguished  himself  at  the  bar  in  the  prosecution  cf  Ensign  .Tohn 
Castley,  for  conspiracj'  to  murder  the  Rev.  W.  Ledwich,  a  Roman  Catholic  Clergyman, 
(Feb.  1804,)  and  obtained  a  conviction  for  assault;  in  the  case  of  Massey  against  the 
Marquis  of  Ileadfort  (July  1804)  and  in  the  case  of  Mr.  Justice  Johnson  ( February,  1805.) 
His  speeches  upon  those  occasions  are  among  his  most  vigorous  efforts ;  but  ample  spi^ci- 
mens  of  his  forensic  eloquence  having  been  already  introduced,  the  reader  is  referred  to 
the  published  collection.— C.  [It  was  in  his  speech,  made  on  Feb.  4, 1S05,  for  Judge  John- 
son, that  Curran  introduced  the  well-known,  and  already-quoted,  eulogium  on  Lord  Avor  • 
more,  with  a  touching  allusion  to  their  former  friendship.] 

t  Upon  this  occasion  the  Irish  bar  convened  a  meeting,  and  voted  the  following  address 
to  Mr.  Curran  : — 

"  Sir — In  your  recent  appointment  to  a  high  and  digniSed  situation,  the  first  pride  of 
the  Irish  bar  feels  itself  gratified,  that  independent  spirit,  preeminent  talents,  and  iii'Vxi- 
ble  integrity  have  recommended  their  possessor  to  the  royal  favour,  and  procured  his  aiJ. 
vanceraent  to  the  bench  of  justice. 

"  Yes,  Sir,  we  trust  that  the  lustre  which  shone  upon  your  distinguished  progress  as  at: 
advocate  will  beam  with  a  milder  but  more  useful  influence  from  the  bench  ;  an^l  the  un- 
biased, impartial,  and  upright  judge  will  be  found  in  the  person  who  exalted  the  I'.harao  • 
ler  of  the  Irish  bar,  by  his  eloquence,  and  uniformly  supported  the  rights  and  privii-gea 
of  an  honourable  profession." 

MR.    CURRVn's    answer. 

"  Gentlemen — I  thanls  you  from  my  heart  for  this  proof  of  your  confidence  and  alTec-. 
tion.  The  approving  opinion  of  so  enlightened  and  independent  a  body  as  the  Irish  bar 
would  be  a  most  valuable  reward  of  merit  much  superior  to  mine,  which  I  am  co"i;sciou3 
has  gone  little  beyond  a  disposition,  but  I  trust  an  honest  and  ardent  disposi'J'i:;,  so  to 
act  in  my  public  and  professional  characters,  as  not  to  be  altogether  unworti.y  of  the 
name  of  an  Irishman  of  that  disposition.  I  receive  your  kind  commendation  v>":th  pride. 
I  feel  that  probity  of  intention  is  all  that  we  can  be  responsible  for. 

"I  am  peculiarly  gratified  by  the  flattering  attestation  you  are  pleased  to  bfsiuw  on 
my  endeavours  to  support  the  privileges  of  our  profession.  They  are  vitally  ai.d  in?vj-a"- 
ably  connected  with  the  enjoyment  of  constitutional  liberty  and  the  effectual  udministr.i- 
tion  of  justice.  The  more  active  part  which  I  may  have  taken  in  the  defence  of  these 
privileges  I  bequeath  to  you  ;  but  be  assured  that  I  bring  with  me  the  most  perfe..'t  con»io= 
tion,  that  in  continuing  to  maintain  them,  I  shall  co-operate  with  you  in  the  discharg-i  o' 
one  of  the  most  important  duties  that  can  bind  us  to  our  country." 


TKEATMENT  BZ   MR.  PONSONBY.  365 

at  the  time,  and  he  never  became  entirely  reconciled  to  it.  It 
imposed  upon  his  mind  a  necessity  of  unaccustomed  labour  and 
unaccustomed  restraint,  to  which  opposite  habits  of  so  many  years 
did  not  allow  him  easily  to  submit. 

[O'Reagan  says:  "The  truth  is  well  known,  that  Mr.  Curran's 
2)ractice  was  not  so  much  in  the  ofui'ts  of  equity.  This  has  been 
partly  accounted  for  already  ;  tha  minuter  details  of  practice  he  was 
not  well  acquaintc'l  with,  and  at  the  time  of  life  when  he  wa 
appointed  to  that  oihce,  the  character  of  the  mind  had  acquired  a 
siiff  and  uiibeudiiig  rigour  unfit  for  pursuits  which  to  him  were  ever 
unconsreuial.  Forms  were  not  habitual  to  his  taste,  or  to  the  eleva- 
tion  of  his  mind ;  its  aspirations  were  loftier.  Of  forms  he  once 
observed  that  they  were  bullet  raoulds :  if  once,  said  he,  you  have 
them,  you  may  cast  on  ad  infinitum.  lie  should  have  condescended 
to  them,  however,  and  because  he  did  not  do  so,  and  because  his 
mind  was  accustomed  to  the  common,  criminal,  and  constitutional 
codes,  he  was  not  in  his  proper  element  in  tin*  llolls.  lie  unwill- 
ingly yielded  to  be  placed  there.] 

"Whatever  might  belts  dignity  or  emolument,  il  had  no  political 
consequence ;  and  therefore,  to  him,  who  had  acted  such  a  part  iu 
the  history  of  his  country*  it  seemed  rather  like  a  compensation 
for  former  services,  thr.u  as  ;i  means  of  taking  that  honourable 
sliare  to  which  he  felt  himself  entitled,  in  an  a.liiiiiiist ration  thai 
promised  such  benefits  to  Ireland.  These  sentiments  of  disgust, 
in  wliich  he  perliaps  indulged  to  an  unreasonable  excess,  disturbed 
the  friendship  which  liad  so  long  subsided  between  bim  and  the 
late  Mr.  George  Ponsonby,  whom  Mr.  Curran  consid.^vd  as  having, 
by  his  acipiiescence  in  liis  appointment  to  the  Koils,  attended  to 
his  nominal  interests  at  the  expense  of  his  feelings  and  his  repu- 
tation. In  this  opinion,  however  encouraged  by  some  subsequent 
circumstances,  it  is  due  to  the  memory  of  Mr.  I'oiisonby  to  state, 
that  Mr.  Curran  was  mistaken.  Mr.  ronsoid)y  made  no  such  in- 
tentional sacrifice  of  his  friend.  He  imagined  that  he  was  observ- 
ing, with  the  strictest  honour,  the  spirit  of  every  former  engage- 


366  LIFE   OF   CUKKAN. 

ment,  althouo-h  it  cannot  be  too  much  lamented  that  he  should 
have  witliheld  all  explanation  on  the  subject,  until  a  mutual  aliena- 
tion had  taken  place,  which  no  explanation  cOuld  recall.  The 
impi-ession  was  never  removed  from  Mr.  Curran's  mind,  that  he 
had,  upon  this  occasion,  been  unkindly  treated ;  but  it  is  pleasing 
to  observe,  that  his  resentment  was  softened  and  finally  subdued 
by  the  recollection  of  his  former  reg-ard  and  respect.  He  visited 
Mr.  Ponsonby  in  his  last  illness,  and  after  his  lamented  death 
took  every  opportunity  of  dwelling  upon  his  virtues,  and  attesting 
the  claims,  which  the  long  and  disinterested  services  of  himself 
and  his  family  had  given  their  name  to  the  gratitude  of  their 
country. 

[Mr.  Curran  felt  himself  driven  into  the  publication  of  a  letter 
to  Mr.  Grattan,  in  which  he  shewed  that  he  had  full  grounds  for 
being  dissatisfied  with  the  manner  in  which  his  party,  and  par- 
ticularly Mr.  George  Ponsonby,  had  treated  him.  Passages  of 
this  letter,  ex]>laining  his  position,  can  scarcely  be  out  of  place 
liere — particularly  as  the  document  itself  had  a  Umited  circulation 
at  first,  and  has  long  been  out  of  print.    Mr.  Curran  says : 

"You  will  remember  the  state  of  Ireland  in  IVZO;  and  the 
necessity  under  which  we  found  ourselves,  forming  some  bond  of 
honourable  connexion,  by  which  the  co-operation  of  even  a  small 
number  might  be  secured,  in  making  some  effort  to  stem  that  tor- 
rent, which  was  cariying  every  thing  before  it.  For  that  purpose 
our  little  party  was  formed  ; — it  consisted  of  yourself  the  Duke  of 
Leinster,  (that  excellent  Irishman)  the  late  Lord  Ponsonby,  Mr. 
B.  Daly,  Mr.  G.  Ponsonby,  Mr.  Forbes,  myself,  and  some  very  few 
others.  It  may  not  be  for  us  to  pronounce  encomiums  upon  it,  but 
we  are  entitled  to  say,  that  had  it  been  as  successful  as  it  was 
honest,  we  midit  now  look  back  to  it  with  some  degree  of  satis- 
faction.  The  reason  of  my  adverting  to  it  is,  that,  under  the 
sanction  of  that  party,  and  in  its  presence,  it  was  agreed  between 
Mr.  G,  Ponsonby  and  me,  that  if  any  circumstances  should  arise 


curkan's  dissatisfaction.  367 

under  whicli  it  might  be  lionourably  open  to  us  to  accept  office, 
it  should  be  on  tlie  terms  of  his  taking  the  first,  and  my  taking 
the  second  place  in  the  course  of  professional  advancement.  Upon 
the  basis  of  this  compact,  which  was  always  publicly  known,  and 
adopted  by  Lord  Fitzwilliam,  in  1*795,  Mr.  G.  Ponsonby  was  then 
nominated  to  tlio  office  of  Solicitor  General.  The  completion  of 
fhac  arrangement  was  prevented  by  the  change  of  the  Irish  Admin- 
istration ;  the  compact  itself  continued  with  increased  force,  (if 
by  the  continued  fidelity  of  observance,  compact  can  be  susceptible 
of  accessional  obligation)  till  the  late  change  in  180C;  it  was  again 
acted  upon  by  the  parties  to  it.  On  that  occasion  I  was  the  only 
interested  member  of  that  party  that  remained  in  Ireland.  I  did 
not  write  to  any  of  my  friends  then  in  London ;  not  to  Lord  Pon- 
sonby; not  even  to  you.  I  knew  j'our  zeal  fur  my  interest;  I  knew 
the  friendship  and  purity  of  Lord  Ponsonby — I  was  sensible  of  the 
waiin  protection  of  Mr.  Fox,  to  which  I  had  no  claim,  sjive  what 
miffht  be  suggested  to  a  noble  and  generous  spirit,  like  his,  by  my 
conduct  as  a  public  man;  I  knew  also,  the  protection  my  interests 
would  have  found  in  Lord  Moira,  Lord  Erskine,  or  Lord  Ilowick,  had 
such  protection  been  necessary.  I  felt  no  solicitude  for  myself;  I 
remained  at  home;  the  event  justified  my  confidence;  Mr.  G.  Pon- 
sonby accepted  the  Seals;  a  proof,  of  itself,  that  I  must  have  been 
appointed  to  tlie  next  attainable  situation.  The  next  situation  could 
be  no  other  than  the  office  of  Attoi;ney-General ;  it  was  the  only 
})lace  in  the  power  of  the  new  Administration  to  vacate;  from  its 
official  rank  in  the  Government  it  was  the  natural  passage  to  tliat 
place  on  the  King's  Bench,  to  Avhich,  as  next  in  professional 
advancement,  I  had  a  right  to  succeed.  ]>ut  on  this  fact  I  was 
not  left  to  conjecture.  I  was  apprised  by  letter  from  you,  and  also 
Mr.  G.  Ponsonby,  that  my  interests  hnd  been  taken  care  of;  Mr. 
G.  Ponsonby  communicated  the  same  to  a  relation  of  mine,  then 
in  London ;  directing  him  to  inform  mc  tliat  my  place  as  Attor- 
ney-General was  fixed,  and  tliat  my  coming  over  would  be  but 
unnecessary  troulJe." 


3G8  LIPE   OF   CTJBRAN. 

The  Duke  of  Bedford,  was  sent  over  as  Viceroy  to  Ireland,  and 
on  Mr.  Ponsonby's  appointment  as  Chancellor,  he  assured  Mr.  Cur- 
ran  that  every  thing  would  be  done  for  him  to  his  satisfacti-.  n. 
But  instead  of  getting  the  appointment  of  Irish  Attorney-General, 
(the  stepping  stone  to  the  Chief  Justiceship,  for  which,  as  a  com- 
mon lawyer,  he  was  well  qualified,  Mr.  Curran  found  that  Mr. 
Plunket  was  to  he  continued  in  that  office.  After  soinc  delay,  he 
saw  the  Viceroj^,  who  told  him  that  the  Mastership  of  the  Rolls 
was  reserved  for  him.  What  follows  can  best  be  reLited  in  Mr. 
Curran's  own  words : 

"You  may  easily  judge  of  my  feelings  on  this  communication  ; 
but  it  was  the  first  time  I  had  ever  seen  the  Duke  of  Bedford ;  I 
had  no  shadow  of  claim  upon  his  Grace ;  he  was  not  the  person 
to  whom  I  could  complain,  that  I  was  humbled  or  ill-treated ;  I 
barely  said  that  "  that  I  was  gratefulto  his  Grace  for  the  courtesy 
of  the  communication ;"  and  retired  with  an  almost  decided  pur- 
pose to  decline  the  appointment.  This  substitution  I  considered  a 
direct  departure  from  the  compact  with  Mr.  G.  Ponsonby,  and 
accompanied  by  the  aggravation  of  withholding  that  consultation 
and  explanation,  without  which,  and  without  my  own  express 
consent,  I  ought  not  to  have  been  so  disposed  of.  As  to  the  place 
itself,  it  was  the  last  I  should  have  chosen ;  it  imposed  upon  me  a 
change  of  all  my  habits  0/  life ;  it  forced  my  mind  to  a  new 
course  of  thinlcing,  and  into  new  modes  of  labour,  and  that, 
increased  labour ;  it  removed  me  from  that  intellectual  exercise 
Avhich  custom  and  temper  had  rendered  easy  and  pleasant;  it 
exclnded  me  from  the  enjoyment  of  the  honest  gratification  of  an 
official  share  in  an  administration  which  I  then  thought  would 
have  consisted  principally,  if  not  altogether,  of  the  tried  friends  of 
Ireland.  When  the  party  with  which  I  had  acted  so  fairly,  had, 
after  so  long  a  proscription,  come  at  last  to  their  natural  place,  I 
did  not  expect  to  have  been  stuck  into  a  window,  a  spectator  of  the 
vrocfssion.     From  the  station,  which  I  then  held  at  the  Bar,  to 


MOTIVES    TO    ACCEPTATION.  369 

accept  the  neutralized  situation  of  the  Rol).-,  appeared  to  ino  a 
descent,  and  not  an  elevation : — It  had  no  alljrement  of  wealth, 
for  diminished  as  my  income  had  been  by  the  mort  remorseless 
persecution  for  years,  by  which  I  was  made  to  expiate  tlie  crime 
of  not  being  an  alien  to  my  country,  by  treachery,  •;  r  by  birth,  it 
was  still  abundant  when  compared  witli  my  occHsious,  and  was 
likely  to  continue  so,  long  as  tlie  occasions  should  bust. 

"To  this  intended  refusal,  however,  my  friends  in  Iieland 
thought  there  were  strong  olvjections;  they  tliought  it  would  look 
like  an  accusation  of  the  party  at  large,  to  the  great  majority  of 
whom  I  had  reason  to  be  more  attaclied  tlian  ever — thev  urned 
other  inducements  unnecessary  to  detail — and  which  I  thought 
worthy  my  attention.  There  remained  a  still  superior  motive  to 
decide  me  :  to  have  yielded  to  resentment,  or  disgust,  and  refused 
tlie  oti'ered  situation,  might  be  to  carry  disturbance  and  irritation 
to  the  bed  of  a  dying  friend ;  I  knew  the  untemporising  nature  of 
Lord  ronsonbv,  where  he  thouoht  his  honour  conceyied,  and 
I  saw  that  the  whole  arrauijement  of  the  administration  for 
Ireland,  as  far  as  it  depended  upon  him,  might  be  dissolved,  if  he 
tliought  me  ill-treated;  I  Lad  a  similar  appreliension  from  the 
part  you  youi'self  would  pursue  upon  such  an  occasion ;  and  I 
could  not  but  see,  that  if  you  and  Loi-d  Ponsonby  were  to  with- 
draw your  su])port  from  the  Irish  Administration,  that  unhappy 
country  could  have  little  to  hope  from  any  new  order  of  things. 
I  resolved  theiefore  to  submit,  and  to  do  s<5  with  an  appearance 
of  as  much  good  humour  as  I  could  aflfect." 

He  sul)mitted,  therefore,  rather  than  break  uj)  liis  "  party."  lie 
saw  Mr.  Ponsonl>y,  wlio  infoniied  biiii  that  Sir  Michael  Smitli, 
(then  Master  of  tin'  Kdls)  should  be  "treated  with  on  the  subject 
of  his  resignation,"  an<l  Mr.  Curran  had  the  mortitiration  of  seeing 
that  instead  of  coming  into  the  stipulated  situation  "  by  an  undis- 
puted claim  ofrirfhf  (?)  and  without  the  burthen  of  one  shilling 
e.xpensc  to  tlie  country,"  he  was  tlung  upon  the  precarious  chance 

16* 


370  LIFE   OF   CURRAN. 

of  a  place,  which  if  achieved  at  all  could  be  obtained  only  by  a 
charge  on  the  public,  and  rendered  additionally  disgusting  to  him- 
self by  the  appearance  of  a  job.     He  says  : 

"At  last,  after  delays  perhaps  not  easy  to  be  avoided,  but 
certainly  affording  ample  time  for  the  triumph  of  my  enemies,  and 
the  vexation  of  my  friends,  both  of  whom  looked  upon  me  as 
insulted  and  abandoned,  that  treaty  took  place,  without  any 
participation  of  mine,  and  without  the  remotest  hint  that  it  could 
involve  any  stipulation  and  giiai-autee  on  my  part.  -I  was  informed 
by  Mr.  G.  Ponsonby  that  the  an-aiigement  was  completed :  That 
Sir  Michael  was  to  resign  on  the  terms  of  receivino-  the  retirinjr 
salary;  and  also,  upon  the  promise  by  tlie  government,  that  his 
deputy  Mr  Ridgeway,  should  get  a  ])lace  of  GOO/,  per  annum,  if  such 
place  should  become  vacant  before  the  25th  of  March  eirsuing, 
until  which  time  no  addition  could  be  made  to  the  pension  list; 
and  if  no» such  vacancy  should  occur  before  that  day,  he  should 
then  be  placed  on  the  pension  establishment  for  500/.  a  year,  for 
his  life,  and  that  a  provision  by  pension,  to  the  amount  altogetlier 
of  300/.  a  year,  was  also  to  be  made  for  three  inferior  officers  of 
Sir  Michael's  Court. 

"  Had  any  idea  of  any  stipulation  whatever  on  my  part  been 
suggested,  feeling  as  I  did,  I  could  not  have  borne  it — for,  see  how 
it  would  have  stood  :  on  my  part,  it  would  have  been  a  direct 
purchase  of  a  judicaT  office.  The  purchase  could  not  be  made 
good  out  of  its  own  income,  which  could  last  only  to  my  death  or 
resignation  :  for  these  annuities  were  for  the  lives  of  four  other 
persons,  and  worth  at  least  8000/. ;  with  these  8000/.  therefore,  I 
was  eventually  to  charge  my  private  fortune  ;  for  this  sum  I  was 
to  buy  the  disappointment  of  an  expectation,  which  I  thought 
certain,  and  to  commit  a  breach  of  the  law  and  the  constitution. 

"But  if  I  could  have  dispensed  with  the  matter  of  purity, 
another  ques  ;ion  remained  :  Was  this  change  between  my  pro- 
fesjsional  and  judicial  situation  so  to  be  obtained,  Avorth  the  sum. of 


HIS   DEFENCE.  3Y1 

8000^.  ?  There  would  have  been,  therefore,  two  previous  questions 
to  decide,  a  question  of  crime,  and  a  question  of  prudence :  if  I 
had  consulted  a  moralist  upon  the  one  and  a  Jew  upon  the  other, 
what  would  have  been  the  answer  ?  I  would  not  therefore  have 
submitted  for  a  moment,  I  would  have  snapped  the  thread  in  such 
a  manner  as  would  have  made  it  impossible  to  splice  it,  and  have 
felt  pleasure  in  being  restored  to  my  liberty." 

Five  months  elapsed  before  Sir  Michael  Smith  resigned  the 
Rolls.  Mr.  Curran  was  then  appointed.  Time  passed  on.  No 
place  was  given,  as  promised,  to  Mr.  Ridgeway.  The  Ministry 
fell  to  pieces,  by  the  death  of  Mr.  Fox,  and  finally  broke  up  in 
April  1807.  No  pensions  had  been  granted  to  Mr.  Ridgeway  and 
the  three  other  officers  of  Sir  Michael  Smith's  court,  and  it  was 
then  endeavored  to  tlirow  upon  Mr.  Curran  the  liabilities  of  the 
non-performance  of  a  promise  to  Sir  Michael  Smith,  actually 
made  without  his  consent,  or  even  knowledge.  He  refused  to 
allow  his  salary  as  judge  to  be  burthened  with  the  payment  of 
800^.  a  year  for  life  to  the  deputy,  trainbearer,  tipstaff,  and  crier 
of  his  predecessor.     He  adds : 

"  I  some  time  after,  heard  that  Mr.  G.  Ponsonby  had  made  a 
grant  of  800/.  per  annum  to  Mr.  Ridgeway,  and  those  three 
inferior  officers,  and  this  act  has  been  represented  to  the  public  as 
occasioned  by  want  of  gratitude  to  Mr.  G.  Ponsonby,  my  benefac- 
tor, and  of  personal  honor  as  a  member  of  the  party ;  as  to  tlie 
first  part  of  the  charge,  you  well  know  how  unfounded  it  is;  thank 
God,  I  have  had  many  friends ;  I  am  now  addressing  the  most 
valued  of  them  ;  but,  in  the  sense  intended,  I  never  had  a  benefac- 
tor :  If  I  had  entertained  any  views  of  ambition,  I  could  have 
been  lifted  only  by  a  stronger  winj^than  my  own  ;  but  my  journey 
has  been  on  the  ground,  and  performed  on  foot,  and  I  was  able  to 
walk  without  the  crutches  of  patronage.  As  to  the  allegation  of 
my  breach  of  JMst  or  honorable  engagement,  the  fact  of  such 


372  LIFE   OF   CURRAN. 

tor  •arement  nu'st  have  been  Avith  the  knowledse  of  the  Duke  of 
B-3<lford,  of  Mr.  G.  PonsoTiby,  and  of  Sir  Michael  Sniitli ;  and  1 
aver  that  T  never  was  required  to  take  any  part  in  guaranteeing 
to  Sir  Michael  Smith  that  agreement  of  government,  or  of  being 
liable  to  him  in  any  event  f'">r  the  pei'formance ;  and  that  I  never 
did,  directly  or  indirectly,  make  any  j)romise  on  the  subject;  and 
that  I  know  not  of  any  act  w  hatsoever,  which,  to  the  best  nf  my 
judgment,  after  the  maturest  consideration,  can  warrant  the 
allegations  that  have  been  made  ao'ainst  me.  Of  these  alleg-ations, 
I  now  feel  it  necessary  to  take  some  farther  notice :  I  well  knew 
how  incapable  Mr.  G.  Ponsoid)y  must  be  of  making  them ;  if  he 
had  heard  them,  he  had  too  much  honour  to  repel  them  with 
indignation  ;  it  is  therefore  the  more  necessary  for  me  to  advert 
to  them.  It  is  said,  the  substitution,  of  which  I  complained,  was 
for  my  benefit :  I  answ^er,  first,  that  it  was  a  question  upon  which 
I  alone  was  competent  to  decide ;  a  question  for  the  feelings  of  a 
genik'Tnan  ;  not  tho  calculation  of  a  notary  public.  Had  it  been 
referred  to  me,  as  I  think  it  ought,  I  should  have  seen,  as  the 
public  did  see,  and  did  say,* that  it  went  to  sink  me,  by  excluding 
me  from  all  political  confidence.  Between  such  discredit  and 
pecuniary  compensation,  no^honorable  mind  could  balance.  But 
the  assertion  itself  is  untrue  in  fact.  The  place  which  I  hold  was 
as  inferior  to  that  of  Attorney-General,  in  point  of  pecuniary 
emolument,  as  of  political  consequence.  The  professional  and 
official  income  I  should  have  deri\ed  from  the  latter,  could  not 
have  been  less  than  double  the  amount  of  what  I  now  enjoy.  I 
should  have  made  no  deduction  for  any  prccariousness  of  tenure, 
for  never  was  there  an  administration  less  likely  to  be  changed. 
That  income,  therefore,  I  should  have  counted  upon  as  certain, 
till  I  passed  to  the  chief  seat  on  the  King's  Bench;  a  situation  of 
equal  certainty  with  that  of  thQ  Rolls  ;  of  far  more  dignity ;  of,  I 
believe  twice  the  annual  value ;  far  more  congenial  with  my 
habits  and  temper;  which  I  should  have  filled  with,  perhaps,  more 
advantage  to  the  public  ;  certainly,  with  nmch  greater  to  myself 


k  RETEOSfECT.  373 

And  to  that  place,  the  office  of  Attomey-Geiiei'al  wcmiM  h;ive  led 
by  the  course  of  ordinary  usage.  Aii'l  to  tliat  phice  it  uiust  have 
\<id  me,  because  in  no  other  way  cuiild  the  compact  have  been 
Innilly  fiillilk'(l.  I  say,  then,  it  was  not  for  my  benefit;  and  I  say 
further,  it  was  for  tlie  benefit  of  Mr,  G.  Ponsonby  himself;  as, 
without  some  arrangement  in  which  I  should  acquiesce,  his  own 
compact  must  have  been  an  insurmountable  bar  to  his  acceptance 
of  office.  I  say,  also,  that  if  the  compact  with  me  had  been 
observed,  the  arrangcnient  with'  Sir  Michael  Smith  could  never 
have  existed  ;  nor  of  course  any  person  be  called  upon  to  compen- 
sate for  its  non-performanc'i.  And  yet  the  charge  against  me  is, 
that  having  veceived  a  pari  payment  of  a  debt,  I  was  bound  in 
honour,  out  of  that  payment,  to  defray  the  expense  of  the  disap- 
pointment whii'h  prevented  my  receiving  the  wliole." 

Further  on,  he  tlius  records  his  claim  for  consideration  from  his 
"  party." 

"  I  came  into  Parliament  at  a  very  early  pei'iod  ;  having  no 
hereditary  fortune,  I  could  have  little  property.  During  the  whole 
time  of  my  sitting  there,  I  never  deviated  from  those  piinciples 
which  liave  bound  us  together;  I  continued,  ficm  rarliainent  to 
Parliament,  to  come  in  at  my  own  expense.  It  is  api)arent  how 
heavy  such  .'i,  builhen  must  have  been.  I  was  not  like  other  men, 
who  came  into  Parliament  without  any  expense ;  who  had  great 
family  interest  to  support  them  ;  I  had  no^  the  same  means  nor 
the  same  inducements  To  this,  perhaps,  it  niigiit  be  objected, 
that  at  my  first  coming  into  the  ITouse  of  Coimuors  I  did  accept 
a  seat  from  a  particular  friend;  and  the  fact  is  so;  but  it  is  also 
true,  that  having  soon  dilfered  on  pulitii'al  sid)jecis  with  lliat  gen- 
tleman, I  purchased  a  seat  for  a  fiieiid  of  Ins,  tlicrc  being  tleii  no 
way  of  vacating ;  though,  to  do  him  justice,  he  endeavoured  to 
dissuade  me  from  it ;  having  given  me  the  seal  on  the  express 
condition  of  perfect  freedom  on  my  part.  From  the  first,  I  adopt- 
ed your  principles,  and  on  those  we  acteil  until  the  forming  of  our 


.374  LIFE   Off  CUEUAN. 

party,  1789.  In  the  mere  persoual  compact  between  Mr.  G.  Pon- 
sonby  and  me,  you  (Mr.  Grattan)  coiild  have  no  interest;  for  ii 
was  known  that  jou  would  not  accept  any  emolument  of  office. 
The  compact  itself  was  not  a  stipulation  for  gain,  but  simply  a 
bond  of  cohesion  in  the  faithful  discharge  of  that  agreement,  I 
made  no  compromise  with  power ;  I  had  the  merit  of  provoking 
and  despising  the  personal  malice  of  every  man  in  Ireland  wlio 
was  the  known  enemy  of  the  country.  Without  the  wallc  of  the 
courts  of  justice,  ray  character  was  pursued  by  the  most  persever- 
ing slander ;  and  within  those  walls,  though  I  was  too  strong  to 
be  beaten  down  by  any  judicial  malignity — it  was  noi  so  with  my 
clients ;  and  my  consequent  losses  in  mere  professloi:.9r  income, 
have  never  been  estimated  at  less,  as  j-ou  must  have  Ol:.^:!  heard, 
than  50,000Z. ;  and  yet  for  these  losses,  it  seems  I  am  to  be  con- 
sidered as  compensated.  It  is  with  no  little  pain  that  I  descend 
to  such  paltry  topics,  but  when  accusation  is  vile  and  gtoveilinjr, 
what  dignity  can  be  expected  in  defence  ?  It  seems  the  privilege 
of  vulgar  calumny,  that  the  victim  must  be  humbled  by  the  on?., 
if  he  be  not  disgraced  by  the  other." 

Mr.  Curran  concluded  his  letter  to  Mr.  Grattan  by  requesting 
him  to  communicate  with  Mr.  Ponsoiiby  (then  recei^riiig  4000  /. 
a  year,  as  pension  for  having  been  Chancellor  for  loss  than  a 
twelvemonth),  and  ascertain  whether  he  had  any  claims  on  Mr. 
Curran,  as  regards  the  pensions  to  Sir  M.  Smith's  ex-officers. 
If  he  had,  Mr.  Curran  offered  to  refer  it  to  Mr.  Grattan,  Lord 
Moira,  Lord  Grey,  Lord  Erskine,  Ijord  Holland,  or  Lord  Pon- 
sonby,  or  any  other  friend  or  friends  that  might  be  appointed. 
Lords  Moira,  Grey,  and  Holland  were  accordingly  named  as 
arbitrators.  The  matter  remained  in  dispute  until  May  1810, 
when  it  dropped,  on  Mr.  Ponsonby's  declaring  that  he  had 
nothing  to  be  referred ;  and  that,  therefore,  it  was  for  Mr.  Curran 
to  open  the  case,  which  Mr.  Curran,  in  the  absence  of  his  friends, 
declined  doing-.     Very  properly  Mr,  Ponsonby,  not  Mr.  Curran, 


MkKRY  t*.   POWER.  376 

was  saddled  with  the  payment  of  Sir  M.  Smith's  ex-officers;  wliiie 
in  power,  lie  might  have   obtained  employment  or  provision  fo; 
them,  and,  not  having  done  so,  suffered  for  his  delVailt  or  iieg 
lect. 

The  fact  is,  Mr.  Ponsonby,  who  had  aristocratic  couueiions 
(his  brother  and  cousin  were  Peers),  was  made  Chancellor  by  tiie 
English  party,  who  disliked  Curran,  the  maker  of  his  own  fame 
and  fortune,  as  being  "  t<io  Irish."  Mr.  Ponsonbv  would  have 
cast  aside  Mr.  Curran  if  he  dared,  and  alleged  that  his  privato 
character  would  not  justify  his  being  made  Attorney-General. 
That  this  assertion  was  untrue,  may  be  judged  from  the  fact,  that 
lie  -was  made  Master  of  the  KoUs — the  second  equity  judge  iu 
Ireland.  Mr.  Grattan  is  said,  when  the  "  party "  were  puzzled 
what  to  do  with  Mr.  ('urran,  to  have  suggested,  with  most  unbe- 
coming levity,  tliat  he  should  be  ma<le  an  Irish  bishop.  This  is 
recorded  by  Mr.  Phillips. 

Mr.  Davis  states  the  professional  opinion  of  the  time,  when  lie 
declares  that  "  Curran  was  unsuited  to  the  technit  alilies  and 
minute  business  of  the  llolls.  He  ha.'  neither  knowledge  nor 
taste  for  it.  He  felt  this,  and  the  moment  he  could  rise  was  one  he 
anxiously  looked  to.  It  may  be  guessed  that  his  orders  or  details 
were  not  very  sound  nor  convenient.  The  only  memorable  deci- 
sion he  made  was  that  in  Merry  v.  Power." 

'I'lie  facts  of  this  case  may  be  stated  thus.  In  ISCi.  M^vy 
Power  made  her  will,  bequeathing  a  considerable  [loriion  of  her 
property  to  the  Rev.  Dr.  John  Power  (Roman  Catholic  bishop  of 
Waterford)  and  others,  in  trust  for  charitable  ]iuipnscs.  Mr. 
Meirv,  her  brother,  a  merchant  in  Spain,  was  her  next  of  kin,  and 
died  intestate.  Her  son  administered,  ami  bic'.iL'l't  a  suit  in  the 
Spiritual  Court  to  set  aside  the  w'.W  as  unduly  obtained  and  as 
disposing  a  large  i)roperty  to  "  Papists,"  and  for  superstitious  pur- 
poses. His  application  as  an  a<lministrator,  pviiilvnte  life,  was 
refused.  He  then  tiled  a  bill  praying  that  the  cH'eets  be  brought 
into  Co'ut  by  Dr.  Power,  the  acting  executor  of  Mary  Pov/er,  and 


376  Lll'E  OP  CITRRAN. 

her  counsel,  contending  that  the  will  was  caused  by  ft-aud,  by  Dr. 
Power,  whom  he  coutumeliously  describetl  as  "  one  John  Powoi-,  a 
Popish  priest."  On  the  other  hand,  it  wa  sargued  that  there  was 
no  color  tor  impeaching  the  transaction;  that  the  bequests  had 
bo(m  most  praiseworthy — that  the  Court  had  already  afHrme<l  ilic 
legality  of  the  trusts, — and  that  it  would  be  unprecedented  for  a 
Court  to  interfere,  as  was  prayed,  before  the  defendant  }i-ul 
answered,  or  had  even  time  to  put  in  an  answer. 

In  giving  judgment,  the  Master  of  the  Rolls  (Mr.  Curran),  said, 
on  the  allegation  that  the  will  was  obtained  by  fraud  practised  by 
"  one  John  PoAver :" 

"  I  see  no  send.)lance  of  fact  to  sustain  such  a  charge.  Who 
does  this  '  one  John  Power^  a  Popiah  priest^^  turn  out  to  be  ?  I 
find  he  is  a  Catholic  clergyman — a  doctor  in  divinity,  a  titular 
bishop  in  the  diocese  of  \/aterford.  And  yet  I  am  now  presse  1 
to  believe  this  gentleman  has  obtained  this  will  by  fraud.  E\ery 
fact  now  appearing  repels  this  charge ;  I  cannot  but  say  that  tho 
personal  character  of  tl^e  person  accused,  repels  it  still  more 
strongly.  Can  I  be  brought,  on  grounds  like  those  now  before 
me,  to  believe,  that  a  man,  having  the  education  of  a  scholai-,  the 
habits  of  a  relioious  life,  and  vested  with  so  hio-h  a  charactei  in 
the  Ministry  of  the  Gospel,  could  be  capable  of  so  detestable  s 
profanation  as  i.=^  tlung  upon  him?  Can  I  forget  that  he  is  a 
Chrii-tiai)  bishop,  clothed  not  in  the  mere  authority  of  a  sect,  out 
clothed  in  tlie  indelible  charaiiter  of  the  E2iis(:-opal  order;  suffering  no 
diminution  from  his  >iijiposed  heterodoxy,  nor  drawing  any  increase 
or  confirmation  fi'om  the  merits  of  his  conformity,  should  he  think 
proper  to  renounce  what  we  call  the  errors  of  faith  ?  Can  I 
bring  my  mind  on  s :.  ^-li'^-ht,  or  rather  no  grounds,  to  believe,  that 
he  could  so  trample  undei-  his  feet  all  the  impressions  of  that  edu- 
cation, of  those  habits,  and  of  that  high  rank  in  the  sacred  minis- 
try of  the  Gospel,  which  he  holds,  as  to  sink  to  the  odious  impiety 
imputed  to  him  ?  Can  I  bring  myself  to  believe  such  a  man,  at 
the  dying  bed  of  his  fellow-creature,  would  be  capable  with  on* 


CHARiTr.  377 

hand  of  presenting  tne  cross  before  her  I'pHfted  eye,  and  with  the 
other,  of  basely  thieving  fioui  lior  those  miserable  dregs  of  this 
world,  of  which  his  pertidioiis  tongue  was  employed  in  teaching 
her  a  Christian's  estimate?  I  do  not  believe  it;  on  the  contrary, 
I  am  (as  far  as  it  belongs  to  me  in  this  inteilocntory  way,  to  judge 
of  the  fact)  as  perfectly  convinced  that  the  condu<jt  of  Doctor 
Power  was  Avhat  it  ought  to  be,  as  I  am  that  the  testatrix  is 
dead." 

On  the  allegation  that  it  was  a  foolish  bequest  to  superstition 
and  Popish  uses,  he  said  that,  on  examination,  he  had  found  the 
object  of  these  bequests  to  be  to  provide  shelter  and  comfortable 
support  for  poor  liclj)less  females;  and  clothes,  and  food,  and 
instruction,  for  poor  orphan  childi'en. 

"  How  can  we  behold  such  acts,  without  reir.'irdino:  them  as 
forming  a  claim  to,  as  springing  from  a  consciousness  of  immor 
tality  ?  In  all  ages  the  hour  of  death  has  been  considered  as  an 
interval  of  more  than  ordinary  illumination:  as  if  some  rays  from 
the  light  of  the  approaching  world  had  found  their  way  to  the 
darkness  of  tlie  parting  spirit,  and  revealed  to  it  au  existence 
that  could  not  terminate  in  the  grave,  but  was  to  commence 
in  death. 

"  But  these  uses  are  condemned,  as  being  not  only  superstitious 
but  Popish  uses.  As  to  that,  I  must  say  that  T  feel  no  disposition 
to  give  any  assistance  even  to  the  orthodox  rapine  of  the  living, 
in  defeating  even  the  lieterodox  charity  of  the  deail.  I  am  awaro 
that  tin's  objection  means  somewhat  more  than  directly  meet"  the 
ear,  if  it  means  anything.  The  objects  of  these  bequests,  it  bcems, 
are  Catholics,  or,  as  thoy  have  been  called,  Papists ;  and  the 
irsinuation  clearlv  is,  that  the  reliirion  of  the  obiects  of  this 
woman's  bounty,  calls  upoTi  me  to  exercise  some  pe<ailiar  rigour  of 
interference  to  abridge  or  defeat  her  intentions.  Upon  this  point 
I  wish  to  be  distinctly  understooil  :  I  dn  not  conceive  this  to  bo 
the  spirit  of  our  existing  law  ;  nor,  of  course,  the  duty  of  this  court  to 
act  upon  that  ])rin(ipl<^  in  tlie  way  contended  for.     Tn  times,  thank 


S78  LIFE   OF   CUKRAlf. 

God,  now  past,  the  laws  would  Lave  waiTanted  such  doctrines. 
Those  laws  owed  their  existence  to  unfortunate  combinations  of  cir- 
cumstances that  were  thoiujht  to  render  them  necessary.  But  if  we 
look  buck  with  sorrow  to  their  enactment,  let  us  look  forward  with 
kindness  and  gratitude  to  their  repeal.  Produced  by  national 
calamity,  they  were  brought  by  national  benevolence,  as  well  as  by 
national  contrition,  to  the  altar  of2mblic  justice  ayid  concord,  and 
there  offered  as  a  sacrifice  to  atone,  to  heal,  to  conciliate,  to  restore 
social  confidence,  and  give  us  the  ho2)e  of  prosperity  and  safety, 
which  no  peojile  ever  had,  or  deserved,  or  dared  to  have,  except 
where  it  is  founded  on  the  comnuinity  of  interests,  a  perfectly 
even  and  equal  participation  of  just  rights,  and  a  consequent  (;ou- 
tribution  of  a,ll  the  strength — of  all  the  pails  so  equally  interested 
in  the  defence  of  the  whole. 

"  I  know  they  have  been  supposed  to  originate  in  religious 
bigotry — that  is,  religious  zeal  carried  to  excess — T  nevei-  thought 
so.  The  real  spirit  of  our  holy  religion  is  too  incorruptibly  i)ure 
and  beneficent  to  be  depraved  into  any  such  excess.  Analyse  the 
bigot's  object,  and  we  see  he  takes  nothing  from  religion  but  a 
ffimsy  pretext  in  the  profanation  of  its  name;  he  professes  the 
correction  of  error  and  the  propagation  of  truth,  liut  when  he 
has  gained  the  victory,  what  are  the  terms  he  makes  for  himself? 
Power  and  profit.  What  terms  does  he  make  for  religion  ?  Pro- 
fession and  conformity.  What  is  that  profession  ?  The  mere  utter- 
ance of  ihe  lips  ;  the  utterance  of  sounds,  that  after  a  pulsation  or 
two  upon  the  air,  are  just  as  visible  and  lasting  as  they  are  audible. 
Wliat  is  the  conformity  ?  Is  it  the  practice  of  any  social  virtue 
or  Christian  duty  ?  Ts  it  the  foi'giveness  of  injuries,  or  the  pay- 
ment of  debts,  or  the  practice  of  charity  ?  No  such  things.  It  is 
the  performance  of  some  bodily  gesture  or  attitude.  It  is  going 
to  some  place  of  worship.  It  is  to  stand  or  to  kneel,  or  to  bow  to 
the  poor-box,  but  it  is  not  a  conformity  that  has  anything  to  do 
with  the  judgment,  or  the  heart,  or  the  conduct.  All  these  things 
bigotry  meddles  net  with,  but  leaves  them  to  religion  herself  to 


THE  fENAL   LAWS.  S70 

perform.  Bigotry  only  adds  one  more,  and  tLr.t  a  very  odious 
one,  to  the  number  of  those  human  stains  \vhi(,]i  i',  in  the  business 
of  true  religion  not  to  burn  out  with  the  bigoLY'  fire,  but  to 
expunge  and  wash  away  by  the  Christian's  tears  :  such,  in^'ariably, 
in  all  the  countries  and  ages,  have  been  the  motives  to  the  bigot's 
conflicts,  and  such  the  use  of  his  victories:  not  the  pro2v:^\tion 
of  any  opinion,  but  the  engrossment  of  power  and  ]>iuiider ;  of 
homage  and  tribute.  Such,  I  much  fear,  was  the  real  origin  of 
the  Popery  laws.  But  pow«r  and  privilege  must  necessarily  be 
confined  to  very  few.  In  hostile  armies  you  find  tlicm  pretty 
equal,  the  victors  and  the  vanquished,  in  the  numbers-  of  their 
hospitals  and  in  the  numbers  of  their  dead  ;  so  it  is  with  nations, 
the  great  mass  is  despoiled  and  degraded,  but  the  spoil  itself  is 
confined  to  few  indeed.  The  result  finally  can  be  nothing  but  the 
disease  of  dropsy  and  decrepitude.  In  Ireland  this  was  peculiarly 
the  case.  Religion  was  dishonoured,  man  was  degraded,  and  social 
aftection  was  almost  extinguished.  A  few,  a  very  few  still  profited 
by  this  abasement  of  humanity.  But  let  it  be  remembered,  with 
a  just  feeling  of  grateful  respect  to  their  patriotic  and  disinterested 
virtue,  and  it  is  for  this  purpose  that  I  have  alluded  as  I  have 
done,  that  that  fexo  composed  the  whole  power  of  the  legislature 
•which  concurred  in  the  repeal  of  that  system,  and  left  remaining 
of  it,  not  an  edifice  to  be  demolished,  but  a  mere  heap  of  rubbish, 
unsightly,  perhaps  pernicious,  to  be  carted  away. 

"  If  the  repeal  of  those  laws  had  been  a  mere  abjuration  of 
intolerance,  I  should  have  given  it  little  credit.  The  growing 
knowledge  of  the  world,  particularly  of  the  sister  nation,  had 
disclosed  and  unmasked  intolerance,  had  jiut  it  to  shame,  and 
conse<piently  to  flight!  Bat  though  i^nhlic  opinion  may  proscribe 
intolerance,  it  cannot  take  away  powers  or  privileges  established  by 
latv.  Those  powers  of  (Exclusion  and  monopoly  could  be  given  u\, 
only  by  tne  generous  relinquishment  of  those  who  possessed  them. 
And  nobly  were  they  so  relinquished  by  those  repealing  statutes. 
Those  lovers   of  their   country  saw  the  public   necessity  of  thd 


380  JJFE   OF   CUKRAN.    « 

sacrifice,  and  most  disinterestedly  did  tbey  make  it.  If  too,  they 
have  been  singular  in  this  virtue,  they  have  been  as  singularly 
fortunate  in  their  reward.  In  general,  the  legislator,  though 
he  sows  the  seed  of  public  good,  is  himself  numbered  with 
the  desJ  before  the  harvest  can  be  gathered.  With  us  it  has 
not  beju  so — with  us  the  public^  benefactors,  many  of  them 
at  least,  have  lived  to  see  the  blessing  of  Heaven  upon  their 
virtue,  in  an  uTiiformly  accelerating  progress  of  industry  and 
comfort,  and  liberality,  and  social  afiection,  and  common 
interest,  such  as  I  do  not  believe  that  any  age  or  nation  has  ever 
witnessed. 

"  Such  I  do  tnow  was  the  view,  and  such  the  hope,  with  which 
that  legislature,  noio  no  more  !  proceeded  so  far  as  they  went,  in 
the  repeal  of  those  laws  so  repealed.  And  well  do  I  know  how 
warmly  it  is  now  rciUiembered  by  every  thinking  Catholic,  that 
not  a  single  voice  for  those  repeals  was  or  could  be  given,  except 
by  a  Protestant  legislator.  With  infinite  pleasure  do  I  also  know 
and  feel,  that  the  same  sense  of  justice  and  good  ivill  which  then 
produced  the  repeal  of  those  laws,  is  continuing  to  act,  and  with 
increasing  energy,  upon  those  p)ersons  in  both  countries,  whose  worth 
and  whose  loisdom  are  likely  to  explode  whatever  princij^le  is 
dicta  ied  by  bigotrij  and  folly,  and  to  give  currency  and  action  to 
vihntever  principde  is  wise  and  salutary.  Stich,  also,  I  know  to  be 
the  feelings  of  every  court  in  this  hall.  It  is  from  this  enlarged 
and  humanized  spirit  of  legislation  that  courts  of  justice  ought  to 
take  their  principles  of  expounding  the  law. 

"  At  another  time  I  should  probably  have  deemed  it  right  to 
preserve  a  more  respectful  distance  from  some  subjects  whi'-h  I 
have  presumed  (Imt  cei-tainly  with  the  best  intentions,  and  I  hope, 
no  unbecoming  freedom),  to  a}»pi-oach.  But  I  see  the  intei'est  (he 
question  has  excited,  and  I  think  it  I'ight  to  let  no  person  cai-ry 
away  with  him  any  mistakLi,  as  to  the  grounds  of  my  decision,  or 
suppose  that  it  is  either  the  duty  or  the  disposition  of  our  courts 
to   nutke  any  harsh   or  jealous  distinctions  in    their  judgment 


curkan's  later  years.  381 

founded  on  any  differences  of  religious  sects  or  tenets.  I  tliiuk 
therefore,  the  motion  ought  to  be  refused;  and  1  tliink  myself 
bound  to  mark  still  more  strongly  my  sense  of  its  impropriety,  by 
refusing  it  with  full  costs."] 

The  remaininff  years  of  Mr.  Curran's  life  contain  little  of  inci- 
dent.  His  time  was  passed  without  much  vai'iety  between  the 
duties  of  his  judicial  situation,  and  the  enjoyment  of  that  social 
intercom'se  for  which  his  taste  continued  undiminished  to  the  last 
It  was  obsei've<l  by  his  friends,  to  whom  he  was  an  object  of  so 
much  interest  that  the  slightest  circumstance  connected  witli  him 
attracted  their  attention,  that  his  spirits  began  to  decline  from 
the  moment  of  his  elevation  to  the  bench.  He  felt  sensible  him- 
self that  the  sudden  discontinuance  of  those  modes  of  intellectual 
exercise,  which  an  uninterrupted  habit  of  so  many  years  had 
rendered  almost  a  necessary  of  life,  was  impaii-ing  the  health  of 
Lis  mind.*     All  his  powers  were  still  in  the  fullest  vigor,  and  he 

*  It  was  at  tliis  time  that  Charles  Pliillips  made  tlie  acquaintance  of  Mr.  Ciirran.  He 
thus  describes  its  commencement ; 

"  When  I  was  called  to  the  bar  lie  was  on  the  bench  ;  and,  not  only  bagless,  but  brief- 
less, 1  was  one  day,  with  many  an  associate,  takini;  the  idle  round  of  the  hall  of  the  Four 
Courts,  when  a  common  friend  told  me  he  was  commissioned  by  the  Master  of  the  Uolls 
to  invite  me  to  dinner  that  day  at  the  Priory,  a  little  country  villa  about  four  miles  from 
Dublin.  Those  who  recollect  their  first  introduction  to  a  really  gioat  man,  may  easily 
comprehetiQ  my  delight  and  my  consternation.  Hour  after  hour  w.is  counted  as  it  passed, 
and,  like  a  timid  bride,  I  feared  the  one  which  was  to  make  Tue  happy.  It  came  at  last, 
the  important  _five  o'clock-,  the  ne pln«  ultra  of  the  Rut-st  who  would  not  go  diiinerless  at 
Curran's.  Never  shall  I  forget  my  sensations  when  I  cuu);lit  the  first  irliinpse  of  the  little 
man  through  the  vista  of  his  avenue.  There  he  was,  as  a  thousiind  times  aftcnrani  I  gn-.v 
>ilm,  in  a  dress  which  you  would  imagine  he  had  borrowed  from  his  tip-slalT— his  liariil.i 
on  his  Bides— his  face  almost  parallel  with  the  horizon — his  under  lip  protruded,  and  the 
impatient  step  and  the  eternal  attitude  only  varied  by  the  p:iuse  during  which  his  eye 
glanced  from  his  guest  to  his  watch,  and  from  his  watch  reproachfully  to  lii^  .liiiinp- 
room.  It  was  an  invincible  peculiarity;  one  second  after  five  o'olork,  an<l  he  wouM  n..t 
wait  for  the  viceroy.  The  moment  he  perceived  me,  he  took  me  by  the  hand,  s:iid  ho 
would  not  have  any  one  introiluce  me,  and  with  a  manner  which  I  often  thought  was  cA.i:-»ii- 
ed,  at  once  banished  every  apprehension,  and  completely  familiarized  me  at  the  I'rinry. 
I  had  often  seen  Curraii— often  heard  of  him— often  read  him,  but  no  man  ever  knew  any 
thing  about  him  who  did  not  see  him  at  his  own  table  with  the  few  whom  he  selected.  Ho 
was  a  little  convivial  deity  I    He  soared  iu  every  region,  and  was  at  home  in  all ;  he  tou-.h- 


382  LIFE   OF   CURRAN. 

could  not  but  feel  discontented  and  mortified  at  findii  g  them  (not 
so  rauch  released  from  toil  as)  condemned  to  repose.  In  the  hope 
of  remonng  this  inquietude  by  indulging  his  faculties  in  their  ac- 
customed tastes,  he  began  to  project  one  or  two  literary  works.  * 
One  of  them,  and  which  it  is  much  to  be  regretted  that  he  had 
not  the  firmness  to  execute,  w^as  memoirs  of  his  own  time ;  but  all 
tlio  entreaties  of  his  friends,  and  all  his  own  resolutions,  gave  way 
before  his  unconquerable  aversion  to  waitten  compositions.  The 
only  notice  of  this  intended  work  found  among  his  papers,  was  the 
following  motto  and  preface: 

ed  every  thing,  and  seemed  as  if  he  had  created  it ;  he  mastered  the  hurran  heart  with  the 
same  oase  that  he  did  his  violin.  You  wept,  and  you  laughed,  and  you  wondered:  and 
the  wonderful  creature  who  made  you  do  all  at  will  never  let  it  appear  that  he  was  more 
than  your  equal,  and  was  quite  willing,  if  you  chose,  to  become  your  auditor.  It  is  said 
of  S'.vift  that  his  rule  was  to  allow  a  minute's  pause  after  be  had  concln.led,  and  then, 
if  no  person  took  up  the  conversation,  he  recommenced.  Curran  had  no  conversation^,! 
rule  whatever  ;  he  spoke  from  impulse  ;  and  he  had  the  art  so  to  draw  you  into  a  p.'irtidV 
pation,  that,  though  you  folt  an  inferiority,  it  was  quite  a  contented  one.  InJeod,  n. th- 
ing could  exceed  the  urbanity  of  his  demeanour.  At  tlic  time  I  speak  of  he  was  turned  of 
sixty,  yet  he  was  as  playful  as  a  child.  The  exiremes  of  youth  and  age  were  met  in  him ; 
hf  had  the  experience  of  the  one  and  the  simplicity  of  the  other.  At  five  o'clock  we  sat 
down  to  dinner,  during  which  the  host  gave  ample  indications  that  it  was  one  of  his  happy 
diiys.  He  had  hie  moody  ones  :  there  was  no  one  more  uncertain.  Joyous  was  ray  an- 
ticipation of  a  delightful  evening.  But,  alas  !  what  are  the  hopes  of  man?  When  the 
last  dish  had  departed,  Ourran  totally  confounded  me  with  a  proposal,  for  which  I  was 
anything  but  prepared — '  Mr.  Phillips,  as  this  is  the  first  of,  I  hope,  your  very  many  visits 
to  the  Priory,  I  m.iy  as  well  at  once  initiate  you  into  the  peculiarities  of  the  place.  You 
may  observe,  though  the  board  is  cleared,  there  are  no  preparations  for  a  symposium  : 
it  all  dejieniis  upon  you.  My  friends  here  generally  prefer  a  walk  after  dinner.  It  is  a 
sweet  evening  ;  but  if  you  wish  for  wine,  say  so  without  ceremony.'  Even  now  I  can  see 
Curran's  star-like  eyes  twinkling  at  the  disappointment  no  doubt  visible  in  mine.  I  had 
heard,  and  truly,  that  he  was  never  more  delightful  than  with  half  a  dozen  friends,  after 
dinner,  over  his  bottle.  The  hope  in  which  I  had  so  long  revelled  was  realized  at  last — and 
here  came  this  infernal  walk  and  the  '  sweet  evening  !'  Oh,  how  I  would  have  hailed  a 
thunder-storm  !  But,  to  say  the  truth,  the  sun  was  shining,  and  the  birds  were  singing, 
anil  tlu'  flowers  were  blooming  and  breathing  so  sweetly  on  that  autumn  eve,  that,  wonder- 
in;?  not  at  the  wish  of  my  companions,  I  also  voted  for  the  '  walk.'  Never  was  man  so 
iiiyslifled.  We  took  the  walk,  no  doubt,  but  it  was  only  to  the  drawing-room,  where,  over 
a  dessert  freshly  culled  from  his  gardens,  and  over  wines  for  which  his  board  was  cele- 
brated, we  passed  those  hours  which  formed  an  era  in  ray  life.  It  was  the  commence- 
ment of  tliat  happy  intercourse  which  gave  this  world  a  charm  it  ought,  perhaps,  never  te 
possess." 
*  He  left  a  novel  more  than  half  finished,  and  a  long  criticism  on  Milton. — M. 


LITEKART    PKO.TKCTS.  383 

"You  that  propose  to  be  the  historian  of  yourself,  go  first  and 
trace  out  the  boundary  of.  your  grave — sti-etch  forth  your  hand 
and  touch  the  stone  that  is  to  mark  your  lic^ad,  and  swear  by  the 
Majesty  of  Deatli,  tliat  your  testimony  shall  be  true,  unwarped  by 
pr-ijudice,  unbiassed  by  favour,  and  unstained  by  malice ;  so 
m^y^st  thou  be.  a  witness  not  unworthy  to  be  cxan>ined  before  the 
awful  tribunal  of  that  after  time,  which  cannot  bco-in,  until  vou 
shall  have  becii  numbered  with  the  dead. 

"I  have  frei.juently  conceived  the  design  of  writing  some 
memoirs  of  myself,  and  of  the  times  in  which  I  have  lived,  but  1 
ha\i^.  biH;n  prevented  by  other  avocations,  not  very  compatible  with 
such  a  purpose.  I  was  also  deterred  by  tlie  great  hazard  to  which 
every  man  is  exposed  who  ventures  to  take  himself  for  a  subject 
What  security  can  he  offer  to  himself  or  to  his  reader  against  the 
glosses  and  perversions  of  false  mode.'ty  and  vain  i;-lory  ■  Ibiw 
can  he  satisfv  eitlier  that  he  is  not  an  advocate,  when  lie  should 
b*^  c-i)ly  a  reporter?  As  to  the  strange  and  wayward  destinies  that 
hav».(  agitated  this  unhappy  country  dui'ing  the  interval  I  speak  of 
— wlien  I  recollect  the  strong  incitement  that  I  felt  as  an  observer 
or  an  actor,  can  I  hope  to  subside  into  that  mifcxereil  moderation, 
without  wliicii  1  can  scarcely  be  comp<jt<!nt  to  the  task  of  review- 
ing or  I'ccording  them  ?  And  yet,  peiliaps,  in  my  strong  feeling  of 
the  diflirulty  and  the  danger,  there  may  be  some  hope  of  escape. 
The  consciousness  m.iv  bi;  some  safejifuard  ai>-ainst  mvself,  and  tin 
fairness  of  the  avowal  will  naturally  ]>revent  tlie  reader  from  fol- 
lowing me  when  I  am  lod  astray.  I  have  therefore  resolved  to 
make  some  attempts  upon  the  subject,  in  such  intervals  of  liealtli 
or  of  leit^uro  ns  '  r.iay  be  able  to  command  ;  pursuing  it  in  that 
way,  I  oamiDi  jiupc  for  much  minuten<'ss  of  detail,  or  mucli  exact- 
ness of  cDiincxinii.  j'.ut,  however  imp  >i  feet  the  performance  may 
be,  and  indeed  nmst  be  under  such  oircumstan(;es,  yet  if  it  shall 
contribute  to  jtreserve  the  monvory  cf  some  acts,  an<l  of  some 
actors,  that  ought  not  to  perish,  but  should  be  preserved  for  tlie 
purpose  of  praise,  or  pimishment,  or  example,  my  labour,  liowever 
humble,  will  not  be  without  it~s  use." 


38-i  LIFE   OF   CURRAN. 

He  thus  alludes  to  the  same  subject  in  one  of  his  private  letters.* 
"I  have  long  thought  of  doing  something  on  the  time  in  whicii 
I  have  myself  lived,  and  acted,  and  suffered ;  from  the  bringing 
Ireland,  in  1Y82,  from  the  grave  in  which  she  had  slept  for  so 
many  centuries,  to  her  reinterment  in  1800;  after  so  short  an 
inteiTal  of  hectical  convalescence,  and  of  hope  so  cruelly  and 
effectually  assailed  and  extinguished,  probably  for  ever!  This 
must,  of  necessity,  draw  me  to  collateral  notice  of  myself  in  some 
small  and  veiy  subordinate  degree — the  few  events  that  befel 
myself — and  the  sentiments  and  opinions  that  I  entertained  upon 
public  affairs,  together  with  the  notions  that  I  formed  as  a  public 
and  professional  man.  Perhaps  the  strong  terror  which  I  antici- 
pate at  the  possible  seductions  of  silly  vanity  and  egotism  may  be 
some  antidote  against  their  poison.  And  yet,  perhaps,  on  tliis  veiy 
point,  my  present  feelings  should  convince  me  how  little  I  liave  to 
liope  from  my  own  caution  or  disci'etion.  I  ;>.m  conscious  that  I 
feel  uneasv  at  thinkina;  that  the  fooleries  and  falsehoods  that  have 
been  published  as  memoirs  of  me  duiing  my  life,  will  be  more 
wantonly  repeated  when  I  am  gone,  which  must  l>e  noou.  And 
though  I  now  think  my  only  idea  is  to  leave  b^ihiiul  me  some 
little  postscript,  merely  to  prevent  misrepresentation,  and  modestly 
confining  itself  within  the  extreme  insigniiicance  of  the  subject, 
wlio,  my  dear  Dick,  will  go  bail  for  tlie  quill  that  is  born  of  a 
goose  ?" 

Another  and  a  moi'o  favourite  d(;signj  wliich  tlie  same  distaste 
to  writinc  involved  in  a  similar  fate,  was  the  coraposition  of  a 
novel,  of  which  tlie  scenes  and  characters  ^'ere  to  be  connected 
with  the  modeiTi  history  of  li'cland.  Of  this  ;\'ork,  which  since 
the  period  of  the  Union  he  had  been  me'iitating,  his  mind  had 
completed  the  whole  plan  :  he  often  repeated  long  passages, 
descriptive  of  the  most  interesting  r,iaiations,  and  marked  by  a 
stvle  of  affecting  elocpeace,  which  v,ould  have  rendered  the  work, 
had  he  submitted  to  the  task  of  committing  it  to  paper,  a  valuable 
Rud  very  original  accession  to  that  department  of  English  literattire. 


CORKESPONDENCE.  385 

However,  altlioiigh  subsequent  to  Mr.  Curraii's  leaving  the  bar, 
his  mind  produced  little  that  could  add  to  his  previous  reputation, 
there  still  reiuain  many  farther  examples  of  his  style  and  opinions, 
preserved  in  his  letters  on  private  and  public  subjects,  and  in  occa- 
sional speeches,  from  which  a  selection  shall  be  introduced  in  the 
remaining  portion  of  his  history.  The  greater  number  of  the 
pi'ivate  letters  are  written  from  England,  which,,  notwithstanding 
his  constant  complaints  against  wliat  he  considered  the  cold  unso- 
cial manners  of  its  people,  he  seized  every  opportunity  of  visiting, 
and  seldom  quitted  without  reluctance  and  despondency.  This 
■was  particularly  the  case  since  the  Union,  of  which  the  effects  had 
been  so  fatal  to  the  society  of  the  Irish  capital. 

TO    LEONARD    m'nALLY    ESQ.,   DUBLIN. 

"Godwin's,  41  Skinner  strbbt,  London.* 

"  Dear  Mac, 

"  I  got  the  cover  yesterday,  thinking  to  write  a  very  long  wise 
letter  to  you ;  now  I  have  only  the  few  moments  that  G.'s  griskin 
takes  to  be  burnt.  Poor  Tooke  is,  I  fear,  at  his  last.  A  singular 
man !  One  glory  he  has  eminently — he  has  been  highly  valued 
by  many  good  men  of  his  day,  and  persecuted  by  almost  every 
scoundrel  that  united  the  power  with  the  will  to  do  so.  Ilis 
talents  were  of  the  first  stamp,  his  intellect  most  clear,  his  attach- 
ment to  England,  I  think,  inflexible,  his  integrity  not  to  be 
seduced,  and  his  jiersonal  courage  not  to  be  shaken.  If  this  shall 
be  admitted,  he  has  lived  long  enough ;  and  if  it  is  not,  he  has 
lived  too  long. 

"My  health  is  much  better;  my  breast  quite  free,  the  pain  gone, 
my  appetite  rather  better,  sleep  not  so  profound,  spirits  flatter, 
temper  more  even,  altogether  some  gainer  by  the  reduction  of  wine. 
At  your  side,  I  understand,  my  good  friends  have  Sangradoed  me, 
but  I  have  taken  only  the  water ;  no  bleeding  for  me.  I  have 
written  to  Amelia;  that  may  save  you  some  throe  pages,  which 

*  Qodwin,  the  novellBt,  kept  a  book-shop  in  Skinner  street,  at  this  time.— M. 


386  LIFE   OF   CUKRAN. 

mio-ht  be  blank  and  written  at  tlie  same  time.  I  would  bee:  a 
line,  but  I  shall  have  set  out  too  soon  to  get  it.  No  news  here, 
but  what  the  papers  give  }'ou;  they  are  all  mad  about  the  conven- 
tion ;  I  differ  from  them  totally,  as  I  feel  a  disposition  to  do  on 
every  subject. 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  you  are  letting  yourself  out  at  Old  Orchard; 
you  are  certainly  unwise  in  giving  up  such  an  inducement  to 
exercise,  and  the  absolute  good  of  being  so  often  in  good  air.  I 
have  been  talking  about  your  habit  without  naming  yourself.  I 
am  more  persuaded  that  you  and  Egan  are  not  sufficiently  afraid 
of  weak  liquors.  I  can  say,  from  trial,  how  little  pain  it  costs  to 
correct  a  bad  habit.  On  the  contrary,  poor  nature,  like  an  ill-used 
mistress,  is  delis'hted  with  the  return  of  our  kindness,  and  is  anxious 
to  show  her  gratitude  for  that  return,  by  letting  us  see  how  well 
she  becomes  it. 

"I  am  the  more  solicitous  upon  this  point  from  having  made 

this  change,  which  I  see  will  make  me  waited  for  in  heaven  longer 

than  perhaps  they  looked  for.     If  you  do  not  make  some  pretence 

for  lingering,  you  can  have  no  chance  of  conveying  me  to  the 

wherry;  and  the  trutli  is,  I  do  not  like  surviving  old  friends,     I 

am  somewhat  inclined  to  wish  for  posthumous  reputation;  and  if 

you  go  before  me,  I  shall  lose  one  of  the  most  irreconcilable  of  my 

trumpeters;  therefore,  dear  Mac,  no  more  water,  and  keep  the 

other  element,  your  wind,  for  the  benefit  of  your  friends.     I  will 

sliow  my  gratitude  as  well  as  I  can,  by  saying  handsome  things 

of  you  to  the  saints  and  angels  before  you  come.     Best  regards  t> 

all  with  you. 

"Yours,  &c. 

"J.  P.  C." 


TO    MISS    PHILPOT,    DUBLIN. 

Loudon  Castle  (Scothnu?),  Sept.  12,  1810. 

"The  day  is  too  bad  for  shooting,  so  I  write.     We  arrived  in 
pjiserable  weather  at  Donaghadee;    thence  we  set  sail  for  tho 


TOUR   IN    SCOTLAND.  387 

Port,  where,  after  a  prosperous  »oyage  of  ten  hours,  we  arrived. 
Two  English  gentlemen  had  got  before  us  to  the  inn,  and  engaged 
four  horses,  all  there  were;  two  might  have  drawn  them  one  very 
short  stage,  and  they  saw  us  prepare  to  set  out  with  a  cart,  which 
we  did,  and  I  trust  with  a  cargo  of  more  good  manners  and  good 
humour  aboard  us  than  the  two  churls  could  boast  in  their  chaise 
and  four, 

"I  was  greatly  delighted  with  this  country;  you  see  no  trace 
here  of  the  Devil  working  against  the  wisdom  and  beneficence  of 
God,  and  torturing  and  degrading  his  creatures.  It  seems  the 
romancing  of  travelling;  but  I  am  satisfied  of  the  fact,  that  the 
poorest  man  here  has  his  children  taught  to  read  and  write,  and 
that  in  every  house  is  found  a  Bible,  and  in  almost  every  house  a 
clock;  and  the  fruits  of  this  are  manifest  in  the  intelligence  and 
manners  of  all  ranks.  The  natural  eft'ect  of  literary  itiforniation, 
in  all  its  stages,  is  to  give  benevolence  and  modesty.  Lot  the  intel- 
lectual taper  burn  ever  so  brightly,  the  horizon  which  it  lights  is 
sure  but  scanty;  and  if  it  soothes  our  vanity  a  little,  as  being  the 
circle  of  our  light,  it  must  check  it  also,  as  being  the  boundary  of 
the  interminable  region  of  darkness  that  lies  beyoinl  it.  I  never 
knew  any  person  of  any  real  taste  and  feeling,  in  \vl;>iiii  knowledge 
and  humility  were  not  in  exact  proportion,  in  Scutland  what  a 
work  have  the  four  and  twenty* letters  to  show  for  themselves! — 
the  natural  enemies  of  v\ce,  and  folly,  .'iiid  slavery;  the  great 
sowers,  but  still  greater  weeders,  of  the  human  soil.  No  where 
can  you  see  the  cringing  hypocrisy  of  dissembled  detestation,  so 
inseparable  from  oppression,  and  as  little  do  you  meet  the  hard, 
and  <lull,  and  right  lined  angles  of  the  southern  visage;  you  find 
the  notion  exact  and  the  phrase  direct,  with  the  natural  tone  of 
the  Scottisli  muse. 

"The  first  night,  at  Ballintray,  the  landlord  attended  us  at  sup- 
per; he  would  do  so,  though  we  begged  him  not.  We  talked  to 
him  of  the  cultivation  of  potatoes.  I  said  I  wondered  at  his  taking 
them  in  place  of  his  native  food^  oatmeal,  .so  much  more  substantial. 


388  LIFE   OF   CURRAN. 

His  answer  struck  me  as  very  characteristic  of  tlie  genius  oi 
Scotland — frugal,  tender  and  picturesque.  'Sir,'  said  he,  'we  are 
not  so  much  i'  the  wrong  as  you  think;  the  tilth  is  easy,  they  are, 
swift  i'  the  cooking,  they  take  little  fuel;  and  then  it  is  pleasant  to 
see  the  gude  wife  wi'  a'  her  bairns  aboot  the  pot,  and  each  wi'  a 
potato  in  its  hand.' 

"  We  got  on  to  Ayr.  It  was  fortunate ;  it  was  the  last  day  of 
the  rain  and  the  first  of  the  races ;  the  town  was  unusually  full, 
and  we  stood  at  the  inn  door — no  room  for  us.  '  My  dear  Cap- 
tain,'* said  I,  '  I  suppose  we  must  lie  in  the  streets.'  '  No,  that 
you  shall  not,'  says  a  good-looking  man — it  was  Campbell  of  Fair- 
field— '  my  wife  and  I  knew  you  were  coming,  and  we  have  a  warm 
bed  ready  for  you ;  she  is  your  countrywoman,  and  I  am  no  stran- 
ger to  you ;  I  had  a  trial  in  Dublin  eight  years  ago,  and  you  were 
in  the  cause.'  '  Oh !  yes,  sir,  I  remember ;  we  beat  the  enemy.' 
'  Oh !  yes,  sir,'  says  Campbell  of  Fairfield,  '  I  beat  the  enemy, 
though  you  were  at  his  head.'  I  felt  my  appetite  keen.  I  was 
charmed  with  the  comical  forgiveness  of  his  hospitality.  I  assured 
him  I  heartily  forgave  him  for  thrashing  my  rascal  client ;  and  a 
few  moments  brought  me  to  the  kind  greeting  of  my  very  worthy 
countrywoman.  They  went  a  little  aside,  and  I  overheard  their 
whispers  about  dinner.  Trouble,  you  may  suppose,  I  did  not  wish 
to  give ;  but  the  feeling  of  the  possible  delay  by  an  additional 
dish,  was  my  panic.  '  My  dear  Madam,  I  hope  you  won't  make 
me  feel  that  I  auT  not  one  of  your  family  by  adding  any  thing.' 
'  JSTo,  that  I  won't,'  says  she ;  '  and  if  you  doubt  my  word,  I'll  give 
you  the  security  of  seven  gentlemen  against  any  extravagance.'  So 
eaying,  she  pointed  to  a  group  of  seven  miniatures  of  young  men, 


*  The  late  Joseph  Atkinson,  Esq.,  of  Dublin. — C.  [He  was  one  of  Moore's  earliest  and  beat 
friends,  and  ample  justice  was  done  to  his  merits  and  his  memory,  by  "  the  poets  of  sll 
circles,"  in  some  beautiful  stanzas. on  his  death.  It  may  be  remembered  that  one  of 
Moore's  Juvenile  Poems  was  a  "Familiar  Epistle,"  addressed  to  Mr.  Atkinson,  to  whom, 
also,  was  written  a  missive  from  Bermuda,  in  Moore's  Odes  and  Epistles  flora.  Ame- 
rica.—M.] 


At)Ml]aAT10N    OF   8C0TLA1ST).  S89 

that  hung  over  the  nre-place.  'Six  of  those  poor  fellows  are  all 
over  the  earth  ;  the  seventh,  and  these  two  little  girls,  are  with  us  ; 
you  Avill  think  that  good  bail  against  the  wickedness  of  extrava- 
gance. Poor  fellows!'  she  repeated.  'Nay,  madam,  don't  say 
"  poor  fellows,"  at  the  moment  when  you  feel  that  hosi)itality  pre- 
vents the  stranger  from  being  a  poor  fellow.  You  don't  think  this 
the  only  house  in  the  world  where  the  wanderer  gets  a  dinner, 
and  a  bed  ;  who  knows,  my  dear  countrywoman,  but  Providence 
is  at  this  moment  paying  to  some  of  your  poor  fellows  far  away 
from  you,  for  what  your  kind  heart  thinks  it  is  giving  for 
nothing.'  '  Oh,  yes,'  cried  she ;  '  God  bless  you  for  the  thought.' 
'Amen,  my  dear  madam,'  answered  I;  'and  I  feel  that  lie  has 
done  it.' 

"We  were  much  pleased  with  the  races;  not,  you  may  suppose, 
at  a  few  foolish  horses  forced  to  run  after  each  other,  but  to  see 
so  much  order  and  cheerfulness ;  not  a  single  dirty  person  nor  a 
ragged  coat.  I  was  introduced  to  many  of  their  gentry.  Lord 
Eglington,  Lord  Casselis,  Lord  Archibald  Hamilton,  &c.,  and 
pressed  very  kindly  to  spend  some  time  with  them. 

"Poor  Burns! — liis  cabin  could  not  be  passed  un\asited  or  un- 
wept; to  its  two  little  thatched  rooms — kitchen  and  sleeping- 
place — a  slated  sort  of  parlor  is  added,  and  'tis  now  an  aleliouse. 
We  found  tlie  keeper  of  it  tipsy;  he  ])ointe(l  to  tlie  corner  on 
one  side  of  the  fire,  and  with  a  most  mal-d-pwpos  laugh,  ob- 
served, '  there  fc  the  very  spot  where  Robert  P)urns  was  born. 
The  genius  and  the  fate  of  the  man  were  already  heavy  on  my 
heart;  but  the  drunken  laugh  of  the  landlord  gave  me  such  a 
view  of  the  rock  on  which  he  foundered,  I  could  not  stand  it,  but 
burst  into  tears. 

"  On  Thursday  we  dine  with  Lord  Eglington,  and  thence  I  hopo 
to  pursue  oui-  lilth'  tour  to  Lochlomond,  Glasgow,  I^/linburgh,  &c. 
These  places  are,  :it  this  time  of  tlie  year,  much  deserted  :  how- 
ever, we  shan't  feel  it  quite  a  solitude;  ami,  at  all  events,  public 
buildings,  etc.,  do  not  go  to  watering-places,  so  that  still  something 


800  ti^i;  oi*  ctJERAN. 

will  be  visible.  In  tbis  region  tbe  winter  is  always  mild,  but  tbe 
rain  is  almost  perpetual,  and  still  worse  as  you  advance  to  the 
north.  An  Englishman  said  to  an  Highlander,  '  Bless  me,  Sir, 
does  it  rain  for  ever?'  The  other  answered — 'Oh!  nay.  Sir,  it 
snaws  whiles.' 

"  See  what  a  chronicle  I  have  written,  ifec,  &c. 

"  J.  P.  C." 

The  preceding  is  not  the  only  record  that  Mr.  Curran  has  left 
of  his  admiration  of  Scotland,  His  defence  of  Mr.  Hamilton 
Rowan  contains  a  short  but  glowing  eulogium  upon  the  genius  of 
that  country,  for  whose  splendid  services  in  the  cause  of  the  human 
mind  no  praise  can  be  too  great.  After  speaking  ot  the  excessive 
terror  of  French  principles,  by  which  juries  were  governed  in  their 
verdicts,  he" proceeded: — "There  is  a  sort  of  aspiring  and  adven- 
turous credulity,  which  disdains  assenting  to  obvious  truths,  and 
delights  in  catching  at  the  improbability  of  circumstances,  as  its 
best  ground  of  faith.  To  what  other  cause  can  you  ascribe  that 
in  the  wise,  the  reflecting,  and  the  philosophic  nation  of  Great 
Britain,  a  printer  has  been  found  gravely  guilty  of  a  libel,  for  pub- 
lishing those  resolutions  to  which  the  prime  minister  of  that  king- 
dom had  actually  subscribed  his  name  ?  To  what  other  cause  can 
you  ascribe  what,  in  my  mind,  is  still  more  astonishing ; — in  such 
a  countiy  as  Scotland — a  nation  cast  in  the  happy  medium  between 
the  spiritless  acquiescence  of  submissive  poverl!^^  and  the  sturdy 
credulity  of  pampered  wealth — cool  and  ardent — adventurous  and 
persevering — winging  her  eagle  flight  against  the  blaze  of  every 
science,  with  an  eye  that  never  winks  and  a  wing  that  never  tires — 
crowned  as  she  is  with  the  spoils  of  every  art,  and  decked  with  the 
wreath  of  every  muse,  from  the  deep  and  scrutinizing  researches 
of  her  Hume  to  the  sweet  and  simple,  but  not  less  sublime  and 
pathetic,  morality  of  her  Burns — how  from  the  bosom  of  a  country 
like  that,  genius,  and  character,  and  talents,  should  be  banished  to 
a  distant  barbarous  soil,  condemned  to  pine  under  the  horrid  com- 


Lettee  from  cueltexam.  39 i 

munion  of  vulgar  vice  and  base-born  profligacy,  for  twice  tlie 
period  that  ordinary  calculation  gives  to  the  continuance  of  human 
life  ?"  * 

TO    PETER    LESLIE,    ESQ.,    DUBLIN. 

"Cheitenuam,  Sept.  11, 1811. 

"Dear  Peter, 

"Don't  open  this  till  the  little  circle  of  our  IIiri.sh  friends  are 
together.     You  will  be  all  glad  to  bear  that  an  old  friend  is  yet  in 
the  harbour  of  this  stormy  world,  and  has  not  forgotten  you :  in 
truth,  it  is  only  that  sentiment  that  troubles  you  with  this  worth- 
less despatch  ;  but  small  as  its  value  may  be,  it  is  wortli  at  least 
what  it  costs  you.     I  don't  think  these  waters  are  doing  me  any 
good — I  think  they  never  did  ;  they  bury  my  poor  spirits  in  the 
earth.     I  consulted  yesterday  evening  (indeed  chiefly  to  put  so 
many  moments  to  a  technical  death)  our  countryman  B.,  a  very 
obstinate  fellow  :  though  I  paid  him  for  his  aftability,  and  his 
'indeed,  I  think  so  too,  Mr.  Shandy,'  I  could  not  work  him  into  an 
admission  that  I  had  any  malady  whatsoever,  nor  even  any  to  hope 
for  by  continuing  the  intrigue  with  Mrs.  Forty  :f    so    I  liave  a 
notion    of  striking   my  tent,  and  taking  a  position   behind    the 
Trent,  at  Doning-ton.J     During  my  stay  here  I  have  fallen  into 
some  pleasant  female  society ;   but  such  society  can  be  enjoyed 
only  by  those  who  are  something  at  a  tea-table  or  a  ball.     Tea 
always  makes  me  sleepless ;  and  as  to  dancing,  I  tried  three  or  four 
steps  that  wei'e  quite  the  cream  of  the  thing  in  France  at  one  time, 
and  which  cost  me  sometliing.     I  tliough  it  might  be  the  gaiters 
that  gave  them  a  piiicrly  air;  but  even  after  putting  on  my  black 
silk  stockings,  and  perusing  them  again  before  the  glass,  which  I 
put  on  the  ground  for  the  purpose  of  an  exact  review,  T  found  the 
the  edition  was  too  stale  for  republication. 

"The  cover  of  this  contains  a  list  of  all  the  politicians  now  in 

♦  Mr.  Ciinan  alliuKs  to  the  sentence  of  Mr.  Muir,  Palmer,  Ac,  who  had  been  trani 
ported  for  sedition  — C. 
•fTChe  person  who  dispensed  the  waters  at  Cheltenham. — C. 
J  The  seat  of  Lord  Moir'a. — C. 


392  LIFE    OF   CUEKAN. 

Clieltenliam,  and  tlierefore  you  must  see  that  I  am  out  of  work  as 
well  for  my  head  as  my  heels.  Even  the  newspapers  seem  so 
parched  by  the  heat  of  the  season,  which  is  extreme,  as  to  have 
lost  all  vegetation.  In  short,  I  have  made  no  progress  in  anything 
except  in  marketing,  and  I  fancy  I  can  cast  a  glance  upon  a 
shoulder  of  Welsh  mutton  with  all  the  careless  indecision  of  an 
unresolved  purchaser,  and  yet  with  the  eye  of  a  master  ;  so  I  have 
contrived  to  have  two  or  three  at  five  o'clock,  ex.cept  when  I  dine 
abroad,  which  I  don't  much  like  to  do, 

"  If  you  remember  our  last  political  speculations,  you  know  all 
that  is  to  be  known  ;  and  that  all  being  just  nothing,  you  cannot 
well  foi'ixet  it.  The  smoke  is  thickest  at  the  corners  farthest  from 
the  chimney,  and  therefore  near  the  fire  we  see  a  little  more  dis- 
tinctly ;*  but  as  things  appear  to  me,  I  see  not  a  single  ticket  in 
the  wheel  that  may  not  be  drawn  a  blank,  poor  Paddy's  not  ex- 
cepted. To  go  back  to  the  fire — each  party  has  the  bellows  hai'd 
at  work,  but  I  strongly  suspect  that  each  of  them  does  more  to 
blind  their  rivals,  and  themselves,  too,  by  blowing  the  ashes  about, 
than  they  do  in  coaxing  or  cherishing  the  blaze  for  the  comfort 
or  benefit  of  their  own  shins.  Therefore,  my  dear  Peter,  though 
we  have  not  the  gift  of  prophecy,  we  have  at  least  the  privilege 
of  praying.  There  is  no  act  of  parliament  that  takes  away  the 
right  of  preferring  a  petition  to  heaven ;  and  therefore,  while  it 
yet  is  lawful,  I  pray  that  all  may  end  well,  and  that  we  may  have 
an  happy  escape  from  knaves  and  fools.  In  that  hope  there  is 
nothing  either  popish  or  seditious.  To-morrow  I  go  to  Gloucester, 
to  the  music-meeting,  and  then  I  think  Mrs.  Forty  and  I  shall  take 
the  embrace  of  an  eternal  adieu.  Do  not  forget  me  to  all  our 
dear  friends  about  you,  and  assure  them  that,  however  kindly 
they  may  remember  me,  I  am  not,  as  far  as  grateful  recollection 

♦  This  familiar  image,  almost  similarly  applied,  was  the  subject  of  some  perplexity  to 
Dr.  Johnson. — "  Roscommon,  foreseeing  that  some  violent  concussion  of  the  State  was 
at  hand,  proposed  to  retire  to  Rome,  alleging,  that  it  was  befit  to  sit  near  the  chimney 
when  t?ie  chamber  smoked,  a  sentence  of  which  the  application  seems  not  very  clear."— 
Jiife  (ff  Roxcommon — C  .  .       ' 


can  go,  in  their  debt.     God  grant  we  may  all  meet  again  in  com- 
fort here,  or  in  glory  somewhere  else. 

"  Yours,  dear  Peter,  very  truly  yours, 

"  John  P.  Curran." 

TO    RICHARD    HETHERINGTON,    ESQ.,*    DUBLIN. 

"Dear  Dick,  '<r.o.no.,  isn. 

"I  merely  write  to  say  that  I  am  alive.  Nevei'  any  thing 
so  dull  as  this  place;  I  shall  soon  steer  towards  you.  You  must 
know  I  have  been  requested  by  a  great  sculptor  to  sit  for  him,  and 
we  are  now  employed  in  making  a  most  beautiful  head  in  mud, 
which  is  to  be  the  model  for  a  piece  of  immortal  Parian  marble. 
Is  that  a  small  style  of  going,  Dick  ?  Ilavuig  now  disposed  of  what 
was  most  important,  we  come  to  smaller  matters — politics  and  war. 
Wellington  has  been  obliged  to  give  up  Rodrigo,  and  retire  west- 
ward ;  I  suppose  to  eat  his  Chi-istinas  pies  at  his  old  quarters  in 
Torres  Vedras,  to  which  every  hundred  pound  that  is  sent  to  him 
costs  only  one  hundred  and  forty  pounds  here.  As  to  politics,  they 
seem  quite  relinquished  by  every  one :  nobody  expects  anv  mate- 
rial change  of  men  or  measures;  nor,  in  truth,  do  I  see  any  thing 
in  the  present  state  of  things  that  can't  be  done  as  well  by  one  set 
{is  Another.  I  have  little  doubt  that  Perceval  is  as  warlike  a  hero 
as  Grenville,  and  just  as  capable  of  simplifying  our  government  to 
the  hangman  and  the  taxgatherer.  I  am  just  interrupted ;  so,  God 
bless  you. 

"  J.  P.  Curran." 


"  Holland  Hocsr,  1811. 


to  the  same. 

"  Dear  Dick, 

"The  allurement  of  a  frank  gives  you  this.     Here   I  am, 
mu(;h  better  I  think — all  lonely.     r>uilon  hero  for  a  week — al- 

*  This  Kentlemnn  held  tlie  situation  of  doptity  keeper  of  the  Rolls  uiiiler  !Mr.  Curran  ; 
all  of  whose  letters  ill  his  possession  he  kindly  corauiunicated  for  insertion  in  Ihi* 
work. — C. 

n* 


39J:  '  i-IFE    OF   CURRAIf. 

most  every  body  else  away.  I  am  scarcely  sorry  for  having  come, 
one  gets  out  of  print;  however,  I  have  scarcely  to  complain,  I 
find  myself  quite  a  proof  copy.  Dear  Dick,  a  man  loves  to  be 
cockered  a  little ;  and  certainly  I  am  not  stinted  here.  I  suspect  it 
is  all  affectation  when  I  talk  cheaply  of  the  great  and  the  grand ; 

for  instance,  I  went  to  pay  my  devoirs  to  Lady  D ,  who  was 

very  kind  ;  also  to  Lady  A ,  who  was  vastly  gracious ;  also 

Godwin,  as  also  Lord  Holland.  To-morrow  I  shall  think  of  Denis 
0'J3ryen  and  the  Duke  of  Sussex ;  'twill  be  well  if  I  don't  forget 
you  and  the  hill,  while  I  remember 

«  J.  P.  C." 

"  Some  more  lies  from  the  continent : — another  victory — three 
legs  of  Bonaparte  shot  away,  the  fourth  foot  very  precarious.  I 
really  suspect  that  you  have  been  here  incoff.,  and  bit  every  body ; 
for  they  will  believe  nothing,  even  though  authenticated  by  the 
most  resjiectable  letters  from  Gottingen.     Farewell. 

"  J.  P.  CURRAN." 


TO    THE    SAME. 


•'  London,  October  12, 1811. 


"Dear  Dick, 

"  I  look  forward  to  being  very  domestic'  for  the  winter.  I 
feel  my  habits  and  feelings  much  upon  the  change :  it  puts  me  in 
mind  of  a  couple  of  bad  verses  of  my  own  growth, 

And  the  long  train  of  joys  that  charm'd  before, 
Stripped  of  their  borrow'd  plumage,  charm  no  more. 

I  am  weak  enough  to  indulge  in  a  conceited  contrition  for  having 
done  nothing,  and  the  penitential  purpose  of  doing  something  befoi'e 
I  die.  God  help  us  !  how  poor  the  vanity  that  self  accuses  us  of 
wasting  funds  that  never  existed,  and  draws  for  compensation  upon 
the  time  that  we  are  not  destined  to  see  !  or  upon  efforts  that  we 


MCLtSH    POLITICS.  .lOii 

have  iiot  strength  to  make!  You  will  tliink  it  odd  that  here  in 
London  I  should  be  very  studious ;  but  so  it  has  been.  I  liave 
been  always  prone  to  metaphysical  and  tlieologi^al  subjects,  though 
T  well  know  the  uncertainty  and  fruitlessness  of  such  I'cscnThes  ; 
however,  I  think  to  call  another  cause,  and  adjourn  that,  till  1  go 
thither  where  all  must  be  plain  and  clear — where  the  evidence 
Tnusl  be  solid,  and  the  judgment  infallible. 

"  I  have  been  only  at  one  play,  and  that  in  company  with  the 
author,  Moore.*  I  sleep  three  or  four  nights  in  the  week  in  the 
country ;  so  that  in  Ireland  I  look  to  be  very  good — like  an  old 
bachelor  who  proposes  to  marry,  and  take  the  benefit  of  an  insol- 
vent act. 

"There  is  still  no  news  here — people  seem  almost  sick  of  con- 
jecturing. As  to  my  part,  if  I  Jiave  any  opinion,  it  is  that  a 
change  would  be  only  partial.  The  jmblic.  undoubtedly  have  no 
enthusiasm  for  the  outs,  and  Perceval  uiii[uestionably  has  risen 
much.  In  the  City  they  think  him  a  man  of  probity  and  of  busi- 
ness, whicli  they  think  much  better  than  high  and  lofty  tumbling. 
As  to  our  miserable  tpiestions,  they  are  not  half  so  interesting  as 
the  broils  in  the  Caraccas.  What  a  tost  of  the  Union !  And 
what  a  proof  of  the  apathy  of  this  bliml  and  insolent  country! 
They  aft'ect  to  think  it  glorious  to  struggle  to  the  last  shilling  of 
their  money,  and  the  last  drop  of  our  blood,  rather  than  submit 
their  property  and  persons  to  the  capricious  will  of  France;  and 
yet  that  is  ])i-ecisely  the  power  they  are  exercising  over  us— the 
modest  authoiity  of  sending  over  to  us  laws,  like  boots  and  shoes 
ready  made  for  exportation,  without  once  condescending  to  take 
our  measure,  or  ask  whether  or  wheie  they  pinch  us. 

"  But  enough,  I  think,  of  religion  and  politics. 

"J.  r.  c." 


*  Thomas  Moore.    The  play  was  operatic,  and  was  damned.    Its  name  wns  "  M.  P.  or 
the  Blue  Stockings. "—M. 


3d6  LIFE   OF  CVBUAit. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 


Mr.  CiUTan  Is  invited  to  stand  for  the  borough  of  Newry — Speech  to  the  electors — Letter 
to  Sir  J.  Swinburne— Letter  on  Irish  affairs  to  H.  R.  II.  the  Dulie  of  Sussex. 


From  the  pei-iod  of  Mr.  Curran's  elevation  to  the  bench,  his  friends 
had  been  very  desirous  to  see  him  a  member  of  the  British  par- 
liament. Independent  of  the  service  which  they  expected  that 
his  zeal  and  talents  might  render  to  Ireland,  there  mingled  with 
their  feelings  on  this  subject  a  sentiment  of  national  pride.  His 
parliamentary  abilities  they  considered  as  having  been  greatly  under- 
rated ;  notwithstanding  the  extensive  circulation  of  his  reported 
speeches,  the  admiration  th-ey  had  met  in  England  was  cold  in 
compai'ison  to  the  enthusiastic  applause  which  their  delivery  had 
excited  at  home.  They  were  therefore  anxious  that  he  should 
have  an  opportunity,  before  age  or  deaih  should  render  it  impos- 
sible, of  justifying  their  preference,  and  confirming  his  own  repu- 
tation by  even  a  single  display,  before  such  an  audience  as  the 
British  senate,  of  those  powers  which  his  countrymen  had  so  long 
been  extollino-  as  unrivalled. 

O 

These  reasons — particularly  the  sense  of  duty,  were  frequently 
urged  upon  him,  but  with  little  eftect.  The  only  question,  upon 
which  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  could  be  useful,  was  that  of  Catho- 
lic Emancipation  ;  and  even  here  he  could  not  venture  to  be 
sanguine.  When  he  recollected  that  his  illustrious  friend,  Mr. 
Grattan,  who  had  made  that  question  almost  the  business  of  a 
long  life,  was  still  (though  supported  by  so  much  of  the  most 
exalted  rank  and  talent  in  the  British  empire)  vainly  exerting  hiss 
splendid  abilities  to  drive  or  shame  the  bigot  from  his  post,  Mr. 
Curran  feared  that  the  accession  of  any  strength  that  he  possessed 


NEWRT   ELECTION.  397 

would  prove  of  little  value  to  the  cause.  The  motives  of  personal 
vanity  or  ambition  had  still  less  influence.  It  is  not  surprisincr 
that  he,  who  in  the  season  of  ardour  and  hope  had  been  so  negli- 
gent of  fame,  should  continue  equally  indiflerent,  now  that  these 
incentives  to  action  were  passing  or  had  passed  away. 

Such  were  his  feelings  (too  full  perhaps  of  despondency  and 
indolence)  when,  upon  the  general  election  in  1812,  the  indepen- 
dent interest  of  the  town  of  Newry  proposed  to  elect  him  their 
member.  A  deputation  from  that  borough  having  waited  upon 
him  for  the  purpose,  he  accepted  the  invitation,*  and  repaired  to 
Newry  ;f   but  after  a  contest  of  six  days,  perceiving  that   the 

*  The  feelings  with  which  Mr.  Curran  accepted  the  invitation  appear  in  his  answer. 

"to   the   worthy    and   independent  electors   of   the   borough   of   NEWRr. 

"  Gentlemen — I  have  just  received  an  address,  signed  by  a  number  of  tiiglily  respect- 
able members  of  your  ancient  borough,  inviting  me  to  offer  myself  a  candidate  to  repre- 
sent your  town  in  parliament.  To  be  thouglit  worthy  of  such  a  trust,  at  so  awful  a  crisis 
as  tlie  present,  and  to  receive  such  an  invitation,  unsolicited  and  unexpected,  Is  an 
honour  that  I  feel  deeply  and  gratefully. 

"  Gentlemen,  I  need  not  trouble  you  with  many  words.  You  know  my  principles,  you 
know  my  conduct  heretofore — I  am  not  a  stranger  coming  forward  to  menace,  or  to  buy 
you,  in  order  that  I  may  sell  you  ;  nor  do  I  rest  my  pretension  on  any  contrition  for  llie 
past,  nor  any  piemediated  promise  that  I  will  at  some  future  period  begin  to  act  honestly 
by  you.  Prom  the  earliest  period  of  my  life  to  see  this  ill-fated  country  retrieved  from 
her  sad  condition  of  suffering  and  of  shame  has  been  the  first  and  warmest  wish  of  my 
heart,  and  warm  it  sliull  continue,  till  I  myself  am  cold  for  ever. 

"  I  know  you  will  not  impute  it  to  a  want  of  the  most  profound  respect  for  you,  when 
I  say  that  I  will  not  personally  solicit  the  vole  of  any  individual.  I  cannot  run  the  risk 
of  soliciting  a  suitor  in  the  character  of  an  elector — it  would  not  benefit  my  Judicial 
situation,  and  I  think  it  would  diminish  that  credit,  which  suffrage  above  all  suspicion 
of  bias,  ought  to  give  to  your  representative.  It  will  therefore  be  sufficient  that  I  attend 
you  in  such  time  before  the  election  as  will  enable  me  to  know  your  farther  pleasure. 

"I  have  the  honour  to  be,  Gentlemen,  with  a  full  sense  of  your  confidence  and  favour, 

"  Your  obedient  servant, 

"John  1'uilpot  Cubran. 
"Stephen's  Green,  October  8, 1812." 

t  Mr.  Curran's  reception  was  most  enthusiastic.  lie  was  met  two  miles  outside  Newry, 
and  about  3(i00  persons  joined  In  drawing  him  into  the  borough  in  his  carriage,  from  which 
tlie  horses  had  been  taken.  Ue  made  a  brilliant  speech  (of  which  no  report  has  been 
preserved),  which  occupied  eighty  minutes  in  tlie  delivery,  and  was  greatly  applauded. 
pis  rival,  who  avowed  Anti-Catholic  opinions,  was  groaned.    Hut  some  of  the  Catholic 


398  LIFK   OF   CUBRAN. 

etreiigtli  of  the  other  candidate  (General  Needham)  left  him  no 
prospect  of  success,  he  declined  any  farther  struggle.  Upon  this 
occasion,  ^fi'.  Curran  delivered  a  speech  of  considerable  length. 
]t  was  his  last  gi-eat  public  etlbrt,  and  was  characterized  by  the 
same  energy  and  fancy,  and  the  same  spirit  of  patriotic  enthusiasm, 
which  reign  in  all  his  former  productions.  After  stating  to  the 
elactoi's  of  Nowry  the  circumstances  under  which  he  had  been 
induced  to  appear  among  them,  and  the  condition  of  the  borough, 
which  had  baffled  the  exertions  of  his  friends,  Mr.  Curran  pro- 
ceeded to  impiess  upon  his  hearers  that  the  long  train  of  sufferings 
which  Ireland  had  enduied  for  centuries  had  oriijinated  in  the 
dissension  of  her  people,  and  that  whatever  of  them  remained 
could  only  bo  removed  by  mutual  toleration.  "  Under  this  sad 
coalition  of  confederating  dissensions,  nursed  and  fomented  by  the 
policy  of  England,  this  devoted  country  has  continued  to  languish 
with  small  fluctuations  of  national  destiny,  from  the  invasion  of 
the  second  Henry  to  the  present  time.  And  here  let  me  be  just 
while  I  am  indignant;  let  me  candidly  own  that  to  the  noble 
examples  of  British  virtue,  to  the  splendid  exertions  of  British 
courage,  to  their  splendid  sacrifices,  am  I  probably  indebted  for 
my  feelings  as  an  Irishmen  and  my  devotion  to  my  country.  They 
thought  it  madness  to  trust  themselves  to  the  influence  of  any 
foreign  country;  they  thought  the  circulation  of  the  political  blood 
could  be  carried  on  only  by  the  action  of  the  heart  within  the 
body,  and  could  not  be  injected  from  without.  Events  have  shown 
you  that  what  they  thought,  was  just ;  and  that  what  they  did,  was 
indispensable:  they  thought  they  ought  to  govern  themselves — 
they  thought  that  at  every  hazard  they  ought  to  make  the  effort — 
they  thought  it  more  eligible  to  perish  than  to  fjxil ;  and  to  the 
God  of  Heaven  I  pray  that  the  authority  of  so  splendid  an  example 
may  not  be  lost  upon  Ireland." 

After  describing  the  condition  of  Ireland  subsequent  to  the 

voters  were  not  true  to  their  own  cause,  and  this,  backed  by  government  influence, 
liefeatcd  Curran.— M, 


SPEECH   AT   NEWRT.  399 

revolution,  Mr.  Curran  continued; — "At  length,  in  1782,  a  noble 
eftbrt  was  made,  and  deathless  ought  to  be  the  name  of  him*  that 
made  it,  and  deathless  ought  to  be  the  gratitude  of  the  country 
for  which  it  was  made — the  independence  of  Ireland  was  acknow- 
ledged. Under  this  system  of  asserted  independence,  our  progress 
in  prosperity  was  much  more  rapid  than  could  liave  been  expected, 
when  we  remember  the  conduct  of  a  very  leading  noble  person 
upon  that  occasion — never  was  a  more  generous  mind  or  a  purer 
heart — but  his  mind  had  more  purity  than  strength.  He  had  all 
that  belonged  to  taste,  and  courtesy,  and  refinement ;  but  the  grand 
and  the  sublime  of  national  reform  were  composed  of  colours  too 
strong  for  his  eye,  and  comprised  an  horizon  too  outstretched  for 
his  vision.f  The  Catholics  of  Ireland  were  in  fact  excluded  from 
the  asserted  independence  of  their  country.  Thus  far  the  result 
comes  to  this,  that  wherever  perfect  union  is  not  found,  complete 
redress  must  be  soutrht  in  vain." 

Passing  on  to  the  Union,  Mr.  Curran  proceeded — "The  whole 
history  of  mankind  records  no  instance  of  any  hostile  Cabinet, 
perhaps  even  of  any  internal  cabinet,  actuated  by  the  j)rinciples 
of  honour  or  of  shame.  The  Irish  Catholic  was  tlierefore  taught 
to  believe,  that  if  he  surrendered  his  country  li<*  would  cease  to 
be  a  slave.  The  Irish  Protestant  was  cajoled  into  the  bdii'f,  that 
if  he  concurred  in  tlie  surrender,  he  wouM  be  placed  uj)on  the 
neck  of  an  hostile  faction.  Wretched  dupe  I — Voii  mir/ht  as  well 
persuade  the  gaoler  that  he  is  less  a  2)>'isouer  than  the  capthes  he 
locks  iip^  merely  because  he  carries  the  key  in  his  2)0cket\    By  that 

♦  Mr.  G  rattan. 

+  The  person  here  alhided  to  was  obviously  the  late  Enrl  of  CharlemonI ;  but  though 
that  nobleman  originally  opposed  the  claims  of  the  Roman  Catholics,  lie  had  the  honour 
in  his  latter  years  of  rising  above  his  early  prejudides;  he  has  also  made  Ireland  amends 
for  the  delay,  in  having  left  a  representative  of  his  house,  anil  of  his  more  matured 
opinions,  from  whom  all  that  his  country  can  demand  is  that  he  may  never  change  his 
present  principles  and  conduct. — C. 

X  We  Joubt  not  that  this  is  the  origin  of  llyron's  well  known  lines  iu  Don  Juan: 

"  The  nations  are 
In  prison— but  the  gaoler,  what  is  hef 


400  LIFE   OF   OUKEAN. 

• 

reciprocal  animosity,  however,  Ireland  was  surrendered ;  the  guilt 
of  the  surrender  was  most  atrocious — the  consequences  of  the 
crime  most  tremendous  and  exemplary.  We  put  ourselves  into  a 
condition  of  the  most  unqualified  servitude — we  sold  our  country, 
and  we  levied  upon  ourselves  the  price  of  the  purchase — we  gave 
up  the  right  of  disposing  of  our  properties — we  yielded  to  a 
foreign  legislature  to  decide  whether  the  funds  necessary  to  their 
projects  or  their  profligacy  should  be  extracted  from  us,  or  be 
furnished  by  themselves ;  the  consequence  has  been,  that  our 
scanty  means  have  been  squandered  in  her  internal  cori'uptiou  as 
profusely  as  our  best  blood  has  been  wasted  in  the  madness  of 
her  aggressions,  or  the  feeble  folly  of  hei  resistance.  Our  debt 
has  accordingly  been  increased  more  than  tenfold — the  common 
comforts  of  life  have  been  vanishing — we  are  sinking  into  beg- 
gary— our  poor  people  have  been  worried  by  cruel  and  unprincipled 
prosecutions,  and  the  instruments  of  our  government  have  been 
almost  simplified  into  the  tax-gatherer  and  the  hangman.  At 
lencfth,  after  this  lonw  nia'ht  of  sufferins:,  the  morninof  star  of  our 
redemption  cast  its  light  upon  us,  the  mist  was  dissolved  and  all 
men  perceived  that  those  whom  they  had  been  blindly  attacking 
in  the  dark  were  in  reality  their  fellow  sufferers  and  their  friends. 
We  have  made  a  discovery  of  the  grand  principle  in  politics,  that 
the  tyrant  is  in  every  instance  the  creature  of  the  slave — that  he 
is  a  cowardly  and  a  computing  animal — and  that  in  every  instance 
he  calculates  between  the  expenditure  to  be  made  and  the  advan- 
tage to  be  acquired.  And  I  therefore  do  not  hesitate  to  say  that 
if  the  wretched  Island  of  Man,  that  refugium  peccatorum,  had 
sense  and  spirit  to  see  the  force  of  this  truth,  she  could  not  be 

No  lesser  victim  to  the  bolt  and  bar. 
Is  tlie  poor  privilege  to  turn  tiie  key 
Upon  the  captive,  freedom  ?    He's  as  far 
From  the  enjoyment  of  the  earth  and  air, 
Who  watches  o'er  the  chain,  as  they  who  wear." 

But  Byron  avowed  that  a  poet  had  a  right,  whenever  he  found  a  good  idea,  to  seize 
CJ)d  use  it. — JJ. 


NEWRT   ELECTION.  401 

enslaved  Ly  tlie  wliole  power  of  England.  The  oppressor  would 
see  tliat  the  necessary  expenditure  iu  wl'i[)s,  and  chains,  and  gib- 
bets, would  infinitely  countervail  the  ullimate  value  of  the  acquisi- 
tion ;  and  it  is  owing  to  tlie  ignorance  of  this  unquestionable 
truth,  that  so  much  of  this  agitated  globe  has,  in  all  ages,  been 
crawled  over  by  a  Manx  population.  This  discovery  Ireland  at 
last  has  made.  The  Catholic  claimed  his  rights — the  Protestant 
generously  and  nobly  felt  as  he  ought,  and  seconded  the  claim ;  a 
sillv  p'overnmcnt  was  driven  to  the  despicable  courao-e  of  cowardice, 
and  resorted  to  the  odious  artillery  of  prosecutions — the  expedi- 
ent failed  :  the  question  made  its  way  to  the  iliscussion  of  the 
senate — I  will  not  tire  y)u  with  the  detail.  A  House  of  Com- 
mons wlio,  at  least,  represented  themselves,  perhaps  afraid,  perhaps 
ashamed  of  their  employers,  became  unmanageable  tools  in  the 
hands  of  such  awkward  artists,  and  were  dissolved;  just  as  a 
beaten  gamester  throws  the  cards  into  the  fire  in  hopes  in  a  new 
pack  to  find  a  better  foi'tune." 

A  little  faither  on,  Mr.  Curran,  again  adverting  to  the  circum- 
stances of  tlie  election,  was  interrupted  by  the  other  candidate's 
agent :  when  that  pei'son  was  made  to  sit  down,  Mr.  Curran  re- 
sumed. "  I  do  not  wonder  at  having  pi-ovoked  interruption  when 
I  spoke  of  your  borough.  I  tohl  you  that  from  this  moment  it  is 
free.  Never  in  niy  life  have  I  so  felt  the  spirit  of  the  people  as 
among  you;  never  have  I  ?o  felt  tlie  throbs  of  returning  life.  I 
almost  forgot  my  own  habitual  estimate  of  my  own  small  import- 
ance;  I  almost  thought  it  was  owing  to  some  energy  within  my- 
S(df,  when  I  was  lifted  and  borne  on  the  buoyant  surge  of  popular 
svmpathy  and  enthusiasm.  I  therefore  again  repeat  it,  it  is 
the  moment  of  vour  new  bii'th  unto  righteousness.  Your  proved 
friends  are  high  among  you— your  developed  enemies  are  exputiged 
for  ever — your  liberty  h;is  been  taken  from  the  grave,  and  if  she 
is  put  back  into  the  tomb,  it  can  be  only  by  your  own  parricide, 
and  she  must  be  buried  alive." 

"Ireland  (said  he,  towards  the  conclusion  of  his  address)  can  do 


402  LIFE   OF   CURRAN. 

more  for  hei'self  now  than  she  has  done  for  centuries  heretofore. 
She  lay  a  helpless  hulk  ujion  the  water;  but  now,  for  the  first 
time,  we  are  indebted  to  the  Protestant  spirit  fur  the  delicious 
spectacle  of  seeing  her  equipped  Avith  masts,  and  sails,  and  com- 
pass, and  helm;  at  length  she  is  sea-worthy.  Whether  she  is  to 
escape  the  tempest  and  gain  the  port  is  an  event  to  be  disposed 
of  by  the  great  Ruler  of  the  waters  and  the  winds.  If  our  voyage 
be  prosperous,  our  success  will  be  doubled  by  our  uuaninuty ;  but 
even  if  we  are  doomed  to  sink,  we  shall  sink  with  honour.  But 
am  I  over-sano-iiiue  in  countino-  our  I'luteslant  allies  ?  Your  own 
county  gives  you  a  cheering  instance  in  a  noble  j\Iar(|uis,*  retiring 
from  the  dissipation  of  an  English  court,  making  his  country  his 
residence,  and  giving  his  first  cnti-ance  into  maniiood  to  the  cause 
of  Ireland.  It  is  not  from  aiiv  association  of  place  that  my  mind 
is  turned  to  the  name  of  Moira— to  name  him  is  to  recognize 
what  your  idolatry  has  given  to  him  for  so  many  years;  but  a 
late  ti'ansaction  calls  for  a  woixl  or  two.  I  thought  anxiously 
upon  it  at  the  time,  aud  from  that  time  to  tliis,  if  ho  required  to 
be  raised,  he  must  have  been  raised  in  public  opinion  by  the 
event  of  that  negociation.f     lie   saw   that  the  public   in  either 


*  The  Marquis  of  Downshire. — C. 

+  Mr.  Cun-an  had,  a  few  weeks  befoi-e,  in  an  equally  public  manner,  discountenanced 
the  angry  feelings  with  wliich  he  found  some  of  his  countrymen  liad  regarded  the  con- 
duct of  his  noble  friend  in  the  recent  negotiatiora  for  a  new  administration.  At  a  pub- 
lic dinner,  given  in  Dublin  to  the  Bishop  of  *.n\  wijli  l;y  Uie  friends  of  reli^'ious  freedom, 
and  attended  by  many,  the  most  distingui-l.cd  Torrank  and  talent  in  Ireland,  Mv.  Curran, 
in  addressing  the  meeting,  enutiicrateii  Iho  several  illustrious  persons  in  the  empire  who 
supported  the  cause  which  they  were  Uiat  day  celebrating:  "  But,"  said  he,  "  I  have  not 
yet  mentioned  the  name,  which  I  was  ilelighted  to  sec  you  were  on  the  tii>tne  of  expecting, 
and  which,  in  whatever  order  it  might  be  mentioned,  you  had  in  your  own  minds  placed 
in  its  natural  station,  at  the  head  of  Uic  list — the  beloved  child  of  Ireland,  the  ornament, 
and  consoler,  and  intrepid  defender  of  his  country  -the  scholar  of  the  camp— the  philo- 
sopher of  the  senate  the  exalted  devotee  of  that  high  and  uni)arlying  ho.Tour,  Uiat  will 
bend  to  no  consideration  of  life,  or  dealh,  or  country,  or  even  of  fame  :  that  man  who,  of 
all  others,  most  distinctly  sees  into  yoi;r  character — your  ardent,  generous  (do  not  be 
.ingrywith  me), your  tender  and  excitable  sensibilily— your  feather-springed  disjiosa- 
bilily  to  affectionate  and  momentary  jealousy,  which  evaporates  in  the  breath  that 
expresses  it.    He  kcows  i   well— he  loves  you  for  it— he  knows  the  rapid  condition  of  itg 


NEWKY   ELECTIOJS'.  403 

country  could  not  have  any  liope  from  an  arrangement,  in  wliicli 
the  first  preliminary  was  a  selfish  scramble  for  patronage,  that 
must  have  ended  in  a  scramble  for  power ;  in  which  the  first 
efforts  of  patriotism  were  for  the  surrender  of  mopsticks  in  the 
palace ;  to  sink  the  head,  and  to  irritate  the  man  who  wore  the 
Crown,  instead  of  making  their  first  measure  a  restitution  of 
representation  to  the  people,  who,  if  they  were  as  strong  as  they 
ought  to  be,  could  have  nothing  to  apprehend  from  the  tinsel  of  a 
robe  or  the  gilding  of  a  sceptre. 

"  Little  remains  for  me  to  add  to  what  I  have  already  said.  I 
said  you  should  consider  how  you  ought  to  act — I  will  give'  you  my 
humble  idea  upon  that  point.  Do  not  exhaust  the  resources  of 
your  spirit  by  idle  anger  or  idle  disgust — forgive  those  who  have 
voted  against  you  here — they  will  not  forgive  themselves.  I  under- 
stand they  are  to  be  packed  u[i  in  tumbrils  with  layers  of  salt  be- 
tween them,  and  carted  to  the  election  for  the  country,  to  appear 
again  in  patriotic  support  of  the  noble  projector  of  the  glories  of 
^Valcheren.  Do  not  envy  him  the  precious  cargo  of  the  raw 
11  laterials  of  virtuous  legislation — be  assured  all  this  is  of  use. 

"  Let  me  remind  you  befors  I  go  of  that  precept,  equally  pro- 
found and  beneficent,  which  the  meek  and  modest  author  of  our 
blessed  religion  left  to  the  world  :  '  and  one  command  I  give  you, 
that  you  love  one  another.'  Bo  assured  that  of  this  love  the  true 
sjiirit  can  be  no  other  than  piobity  and  honour.  The  great  ana- 
logies of  the  moral  and  the  physical  world  are  surprisingly  coinci- 
dent; you  cannot  glue  two  pieces  of  board  together  uidess  the 
joint  be  clean  ;  you   cannot  unite   two   men  together,  unless  the 

recoil ;  but  he  ought  not  to  be  woundeiJ,  nor  you  liuiuiliated  by  any  formal  ceremonial  of 
that  contrition,  l/.oud  fipplaute.}  Hut  I  find  I  am  not  so  bad  a  painter  as  I  thought; 
you  have  made  it  unnecessary  for  me  to  put  the  name  over  the  picture.  May  I  be  per- 
mitted to  add,  that  althougli  I  have  not  been  altogether  unhonoured  by  some  condescend- 
ing notice  from  that  illustrious  and  noblo  person,'yet  I  am  too  proud  to  be  swayed  by  any 
feeling  which,  if  merely  per.'^onal,  must  be  despicable,  and  tliat  it  could  not  add  a  single 
pulsation  to  that  energy  of  affection  and  respect  with  which  my  lieart  clings  to  him  as  an 
Irishman."— »;.    [The  Karl  Moira  afterwards  was  created  Marquis  of  Hastings.— M.] 


•iOi  LIFE    OF    CURRAN. 

cement  be  virtue :  for  vice  can  give  no  sanction  to  compact,  slia 
can  form  no  bond  of  affection. 

"  And  now,  ni}'  friends,  I  bid  you  adieu,  witli  a  feeling  at  my 
lieait  that  can  never  leave  it,  and  whicli  my  tongue  cannot  attempt 
the  abortive  effort  of  expi'essing.  If  my  death  do  not  prevent  it, 
Avo  shall  meet  again  in  this  place.  If  you  feel  as  kindly  to  me  as 
I  do  to  you,  relinquish  the  attestation  which  I  know  you  had 
reserved  for  my  departure.  Our  enemy  has,  1  think,  received  the 
mortal  blow ;  but  though  he  reels,  he  has  not  fallen  ;  and  we  haxe 
seen  too  much  upon  a  greater  scale  of  wretchedness  of  anticipated 
triumph.  Let  me  therefore  retire  from  among  you  in  a  way  that 
becomes  me  and  becomes  you,  uncheered  by  a  single  voice,  and 
unaccompanied  by  a  single  man.  May  the  blessing  of  God  pre- 
serve you  in  the  affection  of  one  anothei'."* 

The  following  letters  contain  Mr.  Curran's  fartlier  views  upon 
the  state  of  public  affairs  in  Ireland  at  this  period: 

to  sir  j.  swinbuhxe. 
"  Sir, 

"I  have  just  received  the  honour  of  your  letter.  I  am  very 
deeply,  indeed,  impressed  by  the  honour  of  being  thouglit  by  the 
committee  not  unworthy  of  the  office  of  steward,  at  the  meeting 
of  the  friends  of  religious  freedom. 

"  If  there  were  no  obstacl  in  ray  way,  but  what  was  within  my 
own  control,  most  promptly,  and  with  pride  and  gratitude,  would 
I  obey  so  flattering  a  summons;  but  the  difficulty  is  what  it  does 
not  belong  to  me  to  dispense  wilh.  The  Court  of  Chancery  will 
be  sitting  on  the  day  of  your  meeting,  and  I  cduhl  not  be  warrant- 
ed in  leaving  my  duty  here,  fi'om  any  impulse,  however  strong,  of 

*  In  the  middle  of  his  speech  Mr.  Bell  (a  regularly  ill-favvinred  srenUenian),  who  was 
agent  for  the  rival  candidate,  stood  up,  and  fixed  his  eyes  upon  Mr.  Ciirran,  "  with  a  very 
peculiar  expression  of  countenance."  On  this  Mr.  Curran  exeUiiiued,  "Mr.  Seneschal,  I 
demand  of  you  as  returning  officer,  that  I,  a  candidate,  shall  be  protected,  ss  you  are  in 
duty  bound  to  do,  from  being  disturbed  by  the  obscene  and  unnatural  grimaces  of  it 
babooo."    Whereupon  Mr.  Bell  sank  into  his  seat— used  up  !— M. 


mtstt  POLITICS.  405 

pei'sonal  gratitude  or  respect.  I  cannot  look  forward  to  any  pro- 
bable state  of  the  court,  that  can  leave  me  to  my  own  disposal ; 
but  if  such  should  occur,  I  shall  certainly  wait  upon  you.  I  am, 
however,  not  a  little  consoled  in  the  reflection,  that  my  absence 
from  such  a  scene  can  be  regretted  only  by  myself,  and  that  my 
presence  could  contribute  little,  or  rather  nothing,  to  the  intended 
result.  The  sanction  of  illustrious  personages,*  who  vouchsafe  to 
patronise  the  meeting,  must  do  much  towards  its  object ;  and  much 
also  must  be  effected  by  the  high  rank  and  character  of  others, 
who  I  make  no  doubt  will  be  zealous  in  following  such  an  example, 
when  the  projects  of  intolerance  are  disclaimed  by  the  authority 
of  the  enlightened  and  exalted ;  and  when  the  great  mass  of  the 
people  are  permitted  to  see  what  cannot  be  difficult  in  so  i-eflecting 
a  nation  as  England,  that  the  cause  of  tolerance  is  really  that  of 
justice,  and  prudence,  and  true  Christianity,  in  which  they  them- 
selves are  as  deeply  interested  as  their  fellow-subjects  can  be.  It 
is  not,  I  trust,  too  sanguine  to  hope  that  practical  bigotiy  must  be 
driven  to  take  refuge  in  flight;  and  that  the  empire  may  look  for- 
ward to  the  adoption  of  such  just  and  beneficent  counsels  as  must 
ever  compose  the  only  certain  basis  of  internal  tranquillity,  and  of 
external  safety.  I  know,  sir,  you  will  })erceive  that  I  allude  princi- 
pally to  this  part  of  the  empire.  I  have  passed  not  a  short  life  in 
it ;  mv  notions  respecting  it  are  the  fi'uit  of  long  observation  of  it 
both  in  and  out  of  parliament ;  and  so  deeply  are  tliese  ideas  graven 
upon  my  judgment,  that  upon  a  late  occasion  I  was  willing  to  forego 
every  consideiation  of  much  labor  passed,  of  advancing  years,  and 
declining  health,  and  to  undertake  the  duty  of  once  more  sitting  in 
parliament.  I  could  have  no  motive  of  ambition,  or  of  jiarty,  or 
view  to  reputation;  I  looked  not  to  be  an  ailvocate  for  my  country, 
but  I  dill  venture  to  hope  that  a  num  so  perfectly  removed  tVoiii  all 
ten)i)tation  to  partiality,  and  with  so  much  opportunity  of 
knowledge,  might  be  received  as  not  an  iiicre<lil'lt'  witness,  in  point 
of  fact,  for  tliis  afflicted  islaixl.     And   tVoni   the  discliarge  of  so 

•  Dukes  of  Kent  and  Sussex,  sons  of  George  III.— M. 


4:00  LIFE   OF   CURRA]^, 

sacred  a  duty,  I  thouglit  it  would  have  been  most  unwortliy  to 
affect  to  excuse  myself  upon  any  etiquette  of  office,  when  the  law 
had  declared  no  incompatibility  between  official  and  public  duty. 
I  did  think,  and  I  yet  think,  that  if  the  real  state  of  this  country 
be  fairly  and  fully  impressed  upon  the  parliament  and  the  public 
it  m'ust  appear  to  demonstration,  that  the  hopes  and  the  fears  of 
the  two  parts  of  the  empire  are  one  and  the  same ;  that  it  is  the 
critical  moment  in  which  every  thing  ought  to  be  done  to  oppose  the 
embankment  of  a  consolidated  nation  to  the  hostile  torrent,  instead 
of  lea\nno;  it  even  a  chance  of  admission  throuo-h  the  interstices  of 
an  incohering  and  porous  population  ;  and  that  those  high  persons, 
who  saw^  things  a  year  ago  in  this  point  of  view,  and  were  then 
willing  to  devote  themselves  to  the  public  service,  may,  upon 
further  consideration,  think  that  the  obstacles  which  then  prevent- 
ed their  intention  ought  not  for  ever  to  deprive  their  country  of 
the  benefits  of  their  virtue  or  capacity  to  serve  it.  Such  an  event 
as  I  allude  to,  they  may  be  assured,  would  have  a  most  consoling 
and  cheering  effect  upon  Ireland,  because  we  should  look  with  con- 
fidence to  their  acting  upon  that  noble  and  conciliating  principle 
of  religious  freedom,  which  has  raised  your  illustrious  patron,  and 
those  who  think  as  he  does,  so  high  in  the  reverence  of  all  men ; 
thev  would  be  sure  of  retrievincy  Ireland  from  a  state  of  suffering 
and  peril ;  they  would  be  sure  of  finding  a  co-operation  in  every 
honest  Irishman  infinitely  superior  to  the  zeal  of  party,  or  of  sect, 
and  founded  on  the  pure  devotion  of  public  duty  and  public 
spirit.  And  it  would  convey  to  the  heart  of  a  loyal  and  ardent 
people  a  conviction  that  they  were  yet  of  a  value  in  a  quarter 
where  their  fondest  hopes  and  affections  had  been  fixed  for  years. 
But  I  fear  ray  solicitude  on  this  subject  has  led  me  to  intrude 
farther  than  I  had  intended  upon  your  attention.  Permit  me, 
therefore,  only  to  request  that  you  will  be  pleased  to  accept  my 
cordial  thanks  for  the  courtesy  of  your  communication,  and  to  pre- 
sent my  humble  respects  to  the  committee. 

"  I  have  the  honour  to  be,  sir,  &c., 

"J.    P.    CUBRAN." 


iiELtGIOUS   FEEEDOM. 


TO    HIS    ROYAL    HIGHNESS    THE    DUKE    OF    SUSSEX. 


m 


"  I  cannot,  sir,  express  the  pleasure  with  wliich  I  lear-n  that  the 
sanction  of  your  ilkistrious  rank  and  your  groat  name  are  given 
to  that  noble  principle  of  religious  freedom,  and  that  upon  aground 
perfectly  distinct  from  all  view  whatsoever  of  political  party.  The 
relation  in  which  you  stand  with  respect  to  your  country,  and  your 
august  house,  must  remove  all  pretext  for  soiling  our  pui'e  and 
modest  religion,  by  blending  it  with  tlie  sordid  spirit  of  party;  or 
of  advancing  the  projects  of  the  latter,  by  an  affected  association 
with  the  former,  in  wliich  heaven  cannot  be  either  interested  or 
honoured,  ami  in  which  the  true  jirinciple  of  2)olitical  wisdom  and 
social  virtue  cannot  fail  to  be  degi-aded  and  depraved.  Never, 
perhaps,  lia\e  the  fatal  consequences  of  this  monstrous  union  been 
more  sadly  pi'oved  and  developed  than  in  the  late  few  years  that 
we  have  [)assed ;  and  more  especially  in  this  ill-fated  country.  In 
England  your  dissenters  were  pi'essed  sorely  enough  by  disabling 
and  excluding  statutes;  but  still  the  sharpness  of  those  legal  mono- 
polies went  rather  against  their  int(,'rest  than  their  honour.  Still 
they  were  equal  asEnghshmen  ;  and  though  shutout,  perhaps  very 
unwisely  and  very  unjustly,  from  a  part,  and  certainly  no  incon- 
siderable part,  of  the  constitutional  precincts  of  their  country,  they 
still  had  the  uncontrollable  range  of  the  I'esidue  as  freely  and 
proudly  as  any  other  portion  of  the  land;  they  had  to  complain 
of  suffering  leather  than  stigma  or  shame.  With  respect  to  other 
religious  descriptions  of  sects,  very  unwoilhy  indeed  to  be  classed 
with  ilisseuters — the  strange  combinations  of  jtei'sons  connected 
together  liv  the  fantastical  adoption  of  wild  and  extravagant  opin- 
ions, much  easier  to  be  named  than  lo  lie  undcrstixnl,  England 
seems  to  have  a<'ted  with  the  policy  that  might  be  expected  from  a 
discreet  ami  thinking  nation.  You  have  most  judiciously  cut  off 
the  supplies,  that  martyrdom  would  have  given  them  in  their  meek 
and  ardent  campaign  against  the  sobriety  and  decorum  of  true 
religion.     Your  established  clergy  have  stinted  them  in  that  food 


4.08  LIFE   OF  CURRAN. 

wLicli  refutation  gives  to  folly.  They  have  had  too  much  good 
sense,  and  too  much  sound  consideration  fortheir  sacred  functions, 
to  enter  the  lists  of  argument  \Yith  these  learned  cobblers,  and  right 
reverend  blacksmiths.  However  they  may  have  been  mortified  by 
the  scandal  of  their  orgies,  they  have  had  foi'bearance  enough  to 
leave  their  diseases  to  cure  themselves,  and  to  consign  them  to  the 
wholesome  and  coolino- veo-inie  of  silent  commiseration  and  inflexi- 
ble  neglect.  The  Law  has  followed  the  example  of  the  Church,  and 
refused  the  honours  of  the  pillory  or  the  stake  to  the  adventurous 
aspirants;  and  to  this  concurrence  in  good  temper  and  good  sense 
mav  it  be  attributed,  in  a  o-reat  deorree  at  least,  that  these  contra- 
band  dealers  and  inventoi's  of  unheai'd-of  forms  of  docti'ine,  and 
patterns  of  tenets,  have  not  been  still  more  successful  in  supersed- 
ing the  good  order  and  sobriety  of  the  national  faith  and  practice. 
I  should  have  hoped  that  this  concurrence  was  founded  on  the  adop- 
tion of  a  maxim,  that  forms  the  basis  of  that  principle  so  fortunately 
adopted  by  your  Royal  Highness,  the  inviolability  of  religious 
freedom.  Tmt  deeply  concerned  am  T  to  see,  that  however  acted 
upon  in  England,  it  has  not  been  pui'sued  in  Ireland  with  the  same 
dignity  and  temper.  In  saying  this  I  do  not  mean  to  impute  abso- 
lutel}  bad  intentions  to  any  ]>arty,  or  to  say  that  neitlier  has  been 
betra}od  into  any  step  that  may  call  for  censure  or  regret;  but  I  do 
think  that  in  our  late,  or  rather  our  present,  unhappy  conflicts  here, 
a  manifest  distinction  might  be  made.  The  Catholic  was  petition- 
ing for  a  repeal  of  certainly  very  affiicting  grievances,  and  it  would 
be  only  fair  to  make  some  allowance  for  the  tone  and  phrase  in 
which  he  might  utter  what  came  simply  to  this  : — '  I  am  in  bondage 
without  having  committed  any  crime.  My  degradation  and  sufier- 
ing  are  justified  by  the  iiiost  cruel  imputation  on  my  character  and 
honour,  and  I  humbly  pray  to  be  set  at  liberty.'  If  a  man  were 
to  utter  such  an  appeal  with  insolence  or  outrage,  I  do  not  say  he 
ought  to  be  kindly  heard ;  but  if  he  felt  the  right  to  freedom  so 
coldly  as  to  prefer  his  claim  with  an  apathy  that  must  freeze  it,  I 
ehould  not  hesitate  to  say,  he  ought  not  to  be  relieved ;  he  has  not 


LETTER   TO    THE    BUKE    OF    SUSSEX.  409 

yet  arrived  ut  that  impatience  of  slavery,  witliout  wliicli  he  cannot 
be  yet  ripe  fcr  freeiloni.  1  cannot,  therefore,  avoid  saying  that  the 
mere  ardour  of  the  CathoUcs,  in  the  pursuit  of  an  object  for  more 
valuable  than  life,  without  which  life  could  be  of  no  value,  was  not 
a  just  ground  for  suspecting  that  their  meeting  to  petition  was  a 
mere  pretext  to  cover  any  other  or  any  criminal  design.  The  rank 
and  property  of  the  persons,  which  made  them  so  firmly  responsi- 
ble to  the  State,  should,  I  think,  have  repelled  such  a  suspicion, 
and  particularly  when  sanctioned  by  so  numerous  a  co-operation  of 
their  Protestant  fellow-subjects.  I  do  not  say  that  the  government 
might  not  have  intended  well,  or  that  a  most  unhappy  mistake  was 
any  other  than  an  error  of  judgment;  but  I  do  think  that  when  the 
subsequent  conduct  of  the  people  had  proved  their  innocence 
bevond  all  doubt,  a  milder  and  more  conciliatino-  conduct  miirht 
have  been  adopted  with  equal  dignity  and  wisdom.  But  I  fear  a 
province  is  a  bad  school  for  a  statesman  to  learn  that  the  essence 
of  dignity  consists  much  more  in  rest  than  in  action.  It  has  not 
Deen  so,  and  the  consequence  has  been  a  state  of  trouble  and  fer- 
mentation, such  as  I  never  before  witnessed  in  Ireland.  Crimina- 
tion and  recrimination  have  gone  on  to  an  extent  on  all  sides,  most 
deeply  to  be  deplored  by  every  man  who  wishes  well  to  Ireland  or 
the  empire.  The  discussions  of  those  unhappy  questions  have  been 
carried  on  in  the  shape  of  criminal  prosecutions;  of  proceedings 
that  never  should  be  resorted  to,  except  in  cases  of  real  guilt,  and 
never  as  political  measures  of  aspei'sion  or  counteraction.  The 
result  lias  been — No  culpable  intention  whatsoever  has  been 
proved ;  no  project  has  been  defeated ;  the  purity  of  the  admin- 
istration of  justice  itself  has  been  exposed  by  the  unhappy  indis- 
cretion of  giving  ground  for  actions,  and  the  readiness  of  bringing 
forward  prosecutions,  in  which  every  judgment  and  vridict  for  them 
has  been  a  public  calamity,  by  sinking  them  in  the  public  opinion, 
and  leading  the  people  to  entertain  an  idea,  which  I  trust  can  never 
be  true,  that  even  the  iudirial  authoritv  mav  be  deirradod  to  an 
instrumentality  to  the  State.     A  man  of  any  party  but  that  of 

.     .    .-^  18 


410  LIFE   OlT  CUEEAiT. 

public  tr.inquillity  and  safety  would  probably  speak  a  language  very 
difterent  from  what  I  am  holding  to  your  Royal  Highness.  But  my 
mind  is  profoundly  impressed  with  the  actual  suti'eriug  and  awful 
possible  danger  of  such  a  state  of  things,  which  is  not  at  all  diminish- 
ed by  the  real  innocence  of  intention,  which  I  am  ready  to  concede 
to  all  parties.  It  is  not  the  guilt  of  the  parties,  it  is  the  fact  of  the 
conflict  in  which  the  peril  consists.  It  was  from  this  view  of  things, 
though  not  then  so  sadly  matured  as  they  are  at  present,  that  I  was 
most  anxious,  a  year  ago,  that  the  arrangement  then  proposed  might 
take  effect :  every  aspect  of  things  seemed  to  indicate  such  an  event 
as  most  practicable,  and  most  salutary.  The  I'esolution  of  the  House 
of  Commons  seemed  to  point  it  out  as  a  measure  of  inevitable 
necessity :  the  exalted  magnanimity  of  an  illustrious  personage, 
relinquishing  every  personal  consideration,  gave  it  complete  facility, 
and  that  in  a  way  the  most  endearing  to  the  Irish  people,  by  show- 
ing that  his  mind  was  perfectly  untainted  by  bigotry.*  Strange  in- 
deed would  it  be,  if  an  individual  of  the  first  taste  in  England  could 
be  so  tainted  ;  for  what  is  taste  but  the  moral  instinct  of  a  highly 
cultivated  understanding  ?  The  great  talents  and  character  of  the 
noble  persons  concerned  was  a  pledge  to  the  empire  of  what  might 
be  expected  from  the  measure.  It  held  out  a  hope  of  friendly 
adjustment  with  America,  instead  of  forcing  her  unnaturally  into  the 
ranks  of  our  enemies,  and  driving  her  to  waste  her  young  blood  in 
battle,  instead  of  preserving  it  for  growth;  instead  of  recollecting 
that  she  mi'dit  be  destined  to  be  the  cradle  of  a  Hercules,  who, 
even  in  his  infancy,  was  doomed  to  crush  the  snakes  of  despotism, 
and  whose  full-grown  labours  might  be  reserved,  by  the  extirpation 
of  monsters,  to  form  a  new  system  for  freedom  in  the  west,  even 
after  it  had  been  banished,  like  the  Americans  themselves,  from  the 
east.  It  gave  us  at  least  an  additional  hope  of  an  interval  to 
breathe,  by  a  peace  with  France ;  an  event  made  probable  by  the 
known  opinions  of  those  noble  persons  upon  the  subject;  and  made 

*  The  Pi-ince  Regent,  afterwards  Qeorgo  IV.— M. 


LETTEE   TO   TIlE    tlCKE   OF    SL'SSl':X:.  411 

still  more  probable  by  the  incalculable  addition  to  the  actu;il  force 
of  the  empire,  in  tlie  perfect  conciliation  of  Ireland,  wliicli  tliey, 
and,  I  much  fear,  they  alone,  could  be  likely  to  eftect ;  but  in  these 
prospects  we  were  destined  to  be  disappointed.  Upon  the  cause 
of  this  failure  there  was  a  variety  of  opinions,  but  there  was  a  per- 
fect concurrence  in  the  feeling,  that  it  was  a  great  misfortune  to 
this  nation :  it  doomed  us  to  a  continuance  of  disquiet,  and  an  in- 
crease of  burdens  and  of  dangers;  yet  we  did  not  hastily  give  up 
the  hope  that  the  difficulties  might  be  yet  got  over.  Nor  can  I 
now  conceive  how  it  is  possible  for  those  noble  persons  to  allow  the 
weight  of  a  feather  to  those  difficulties,  when  they  see  that  every 
event  that  has  happened  from  that  hour  to  this  is  flimg  into  the 
opposite  scale,  and  is  a  call  upon  them  to  come  forwai'd  and  do 
their  duty  to  their  country. 

"As  an  Irishman  I  own  my  heart  sunlc  wlien  all  hope  was  at  an 
end  of  seeing  our  favourite  countryman  *  return  to  his  native  land 
bearing  the  olive  branch ;  the  only  man  who  seemed  peculiarly 
designated  for  the  great  work  of  conciliation ;  but  even  from  the 
lip  the  cup  has  been  dashed — the  grating  upon  the  mountain  of 
Ararat  was  a  delusive  omen  of  thr  subsiding  of  the  waters;  and 
our  miserable  ark  is  still  tossed,  not  upon  a  sinking  but  a  rising 
and  more  angry  flood.  My  own  concern,  at  that  time,  did  not 
spring  from  any  personal  bad  opinion  of  the  ministers;  I  gave 
them  then  and  I  give  them  now,  full  ci'cdit  for  perfect  good  inten- 
tion. Indeed,  I  can  scarcely  conceive  the  possibility  of  a  public 
man's  havinsf  the  heart  not  to  intend  most  conscientiouslv  for  the 
best;  but  I  could  not  avoid  seeing  that  the  vote  of  the  house  was 
a  sort  of  presentment  against  them  l>y  the  grand  ini[uest  of  tlie 
nation;  and  that  the  readiness  of  their  master  to  dismiss  tliem 
■was  a  full  contitination  of  the  public  ojiinion,  that  it  was  a  bliglit 
under  which,  if  they  ilid  not  die,  they  must  dwindle;  an<l  that 
their  acts  and  their  language  could  not  but  correspond  with  adimi- 

*  The  Earl  of  Moira.— M. 


412  LIFE   OF   ClTKIiAK. 

ni:*lied  stature.  They  have  verified  their  sail  foreboding,  peculiarly 
with  respect  to  America  aud  to  Ireland ;  their  tone  and  style  has 
been  undignified,  peevish,  and  exasperating,  sophisticated  and 
insultiniT.  What  else  have  been  their  Orders  in  Council?  'The 
French  are  abusing  your  rights  on  the  sea,  we  will  retaliate  by 
abusing  them  also : — the  highwaymen  rob  you  of  half  your  pro- 
perty, we  will  retaliate  upon  the  highwaymen  by  robbing  you  of 
the  other  half  But  this  is  a  subject  perhaps  beyond  my  depth, 
aud  up!>n  which  my  reasonings  may  be  partial.  There  are  many 
sad  aiialo-'iesthat  o-ive  us  a  deep  and  tender  interest  in  the  fate  of 
that  country.  We  cannot  forget  the  fresh  and  daily  increasing 
ties  that  hind  us  to  them  as  brothers,  or  children,  or  kindred.  An 
Ainerican  war  can  never  be  popular  in  Ireland;  and  the  same 
causes  that  make  it  impossible  for  us  to  be  their  enemies,  make  it 
improper  to  be  their  judges.  My  mind,  therefore,  returns  to  home 
the  natural  scene  of  every  man's  immediate  solicitude.  Upon  this 
subject,  to  almost  any  other  person  than  your  Royal  Highriess,  I 
should  have  much  to  say.  To  you,  sir,  I  know  how  absurd  it 
would  be  to  atfect  to  give  information.  The  feeling  and  tlie 
splendid  part  which  you  have  been  pleased  to  take  in  our  interests 
and  our  sutferings  prove  to  us,  not  only  how  perfect  a  knowledge 
of  them  yoii  possess,  but  also  how  much  a  patient  and  impartial 
judgment  can  contract  questions  which  blindness  and  passion  had 
dilated  and  perplexed,  aud  to  what  a  salutary  degree  you  have 
been  successful  in  simplifying  the  real  objects  to  which  the  atten- 
tion of  the  two  countries  ought  to  be  confined.  Any  longer  tres- 
pass upon  your  Royal  Highness'  patience  can  go  no  further,  there- 
fore, than  very  passingly  to  advert  to  the  progress  which  I  hope  has 
been  made  in  the  happy  work  of  conciliation. 

"I  think  the  good  sense  of  England  must  now  see,  that  the 
habits  of  reasoning  and  acting  in  Ireland  are  not  to  be  judged  by 
the  interested  and  distorted  misrepresentations  that  have  been 
made  of  this  country  during  centuries  2'>ast.  I  imderstand  with 
pleasure  that  those  historical  topics  of  abuse,  which  caught  tha 


LETTER   TO    THE    DUKE    OF    SUSSEX.  413 

public  attention  for  some  time,  are  now  spurned  or  uiugned  at,  as 
the  venomous  and  silly  effusions  of  I'eading  without  learning,  or 
leai'nino-  without  knowledge ;  the  real  heads  of  inquiry  are  now 
plain.  I  know  some  weight  was  once  given  to  the  distinction, 
that  mere  exclusion  was  not  privation.  I  believe  there  is  now  no 
rational  man  who  does  not  see,  that  when  it  is  justified  upon  the 
most  degrading  imputations,  it  is  the  bitterest  of  all  privations, 
because  in  the  same  moment  it  takes  away  the  privilege  of  the 
subject  and  the  character  of  the  man. 

"  It  has  been  said,  '  It  is  dangerous  to  give  power  to  the  Catho- 
lics as  long  as  this  objection  was  undefined.'  This  acted  upon  the 
nerves  of,  I  am  sure,  many  good  men ;  but  it  could  not  but  cease 
to  do  so,  when  they  refiected  that  nothing  like  power  was  sought 
or  intended  to  be  given.  Mere  admissibility  is  nothing  like 
power ;  mere  admissibility  can  no  more  make  a  Catholic  a  ganger 
than  it  can  make  him  a  king.  I  am  admissible  to  be  Lord  Chan- 
cellor of  England  ;  but  would  not  any  man  in  his  senses  imagine  I 
had  escaped  from  Bedlam  if  I  calletl  such  admissibility  by  the 
name  of  power  ?  It  was  said,  that  Emancipation  would  lead  to 
attempts  upon  our  establishments.  It  is  not  surely  difficult  to  see 
that  establishments  can  be  altered  or  destroyed  only  by  law  or  by 

"  As  to  law,  tlie  danger  comes  exactly  to  this  ;  whether  a  few 
Catholic  members  could  succeed  in  making  proselytes  of  King, 
Lords  and  Commons,  so  as  to  subvert  the  Protestant  Church  ?  [ 
confess,  sir,  that  it  is  not  my  opinion  of  our  Catholic  gentry  ;  if 
they  became  senators  I  suspect  their  amhitioa  would  have  very 
little  to  do  with  religion,  and  that  they  would  be  seen  going  forth 
with  the  ministers  of  the  day,  as  well  as  their  Protestant  brethren, 
in  the  mildest  spirit  of  patriotic  toleration. 

"As  to  brutal  force,  I  can't  see  that  admissibility  to  sit  in  the 
House  of  Commons  could  be  an  inducement  with  any  man  to  burn 
it.  I  cannot  comprehend  how  giving  )ncn  those  interests  in  the 
8':iite,  without  which  no  state  can  have  any  real  vdue  in  their  eyes, 


414  LIFK    OF    CURRAN. 

can  increase  their  \t  isli  any  more  than  their  power  to  destroy  it. 
I  have  heard  of  common  sailors  mailing  off  with  a  ship  and  caro-o, 
but  never  of  tlie  proprietor  joining  in  such  an  act.  I  never  heard 
even  of  an  Irish  gentleman  robbing  himself  and  running  away. 
Tf  they  are  then  asked — what  do  we  solicit,  and  what  can  they 
give  us  ?  I  cannot  doubt  that  a  generous  nation  will  feel  no  little 
pain  in  being  obliged  to  answer — '  We  cannot  give  you  power,  nor 
place,  nor  wealth ;  we  cannot  undo  the  sad  consequences  of  con- 
tinued oppression ;  we  cannot  restore  you  in  a  moment  to  national 
health ;  the  most  we  can  do  is  to  remove  the  actual  malady  in 
which  you  have  been  so  long  consumed ;  and  to  put  you  into  a 
state  of  possible  convalescence,  in  which  the  progress,  at  the  best, 
must  be  hectical  and  tardy.' 

"I  know  the  hoj^es  of  some  men  are  damped  by  the  petitions 
against  us.  My  hope  is,  that  they  are  favourable  to  us ;  when  the 
motives  and  the  means  of  procuring  them  are  considered  (and 
they  cannot  be  unknown)  they  cannot  fail  of  kindling  a  condign 
detestation  of  those  who  can  resort,  for  any  human  object,  to  such 
obdurate  and  remorseless  guilt,  as  that  of  exciting  man  against 
man ;  of  loosening  those  bonds  that  should  bind  the  subject  to  th'^ 
state,  and  poisoning  the  sources  of  that  Christian  benevolence  that 
ought  to  be  the  consolation  of  nations  under  those  sufferings  with 
which  it  has  pleased  Providence  to  permit  almost  the  whole 
civilized  world  to  be  afflicted ;  nor  can  I  deem  it  possible  that  so 
just  a  detestation  of  the  oppression  should  not  lead  to  a  propor- 
tional sympathy  for  the  sufferers.  As  to  the  petitions  from  our- 
selves, we  know  they  are  the  natural  consequences  of  our  condition ; 
they  are  much  stronger  proofs  of  deplorable  prostration  than  of 
real  malice ;  and  happy  is  it  for  the  quiet  of  Ireland,  that  they  arc 
so  considered.  AVhen  Verres  was  accused  for  his  frightful  mal- 
administration in  Sicily,  a  counter-petition  was  obtained ;  and  if  I 
forget  not,  at  the  head  of  the  deputation  who  came  to  implore 
that  no  mercy  should  be  extended  to  him,  was  advancing  to  the 
senate,  an  illustrious  Sicilian,  who  had  himself  been  the  most  dis- 


LETfEE   TO   TFIE   DUKE  OF   SUSSEX.  415 

tinguislied  victim  of  what  autliority  may  perpetrate  iu  a  province. 
I  canrot  imagine  that  the  display  of  such  a  spectacle  could  do 
injury  to  tlie  cause  of  the  unfortunate  supplicants;  nor  can  I 
think,  that  if  the  Irish  Catholic  were  now  put  upon  his  trial  before 
an  iin|>artial  tribunal  of  the  English  nation,  his  accusation  weighed 
yo'ainst  his  defence,  his  friends  against  his  enemies,  his  conduct 
aL^-iinst  his  treatment;  I  cannot  dmibt  that  in  such  a  situation,  his 
character  and  claims  would  be  so  felt,  that  he  might  boldly  say, 
'I  would  to  God  that  not  only  you,  but  all  those  who  hear  me  this 
day,  were  both,  almost  and  altogether  such  as  I  am,  except  these 
bonds.'  I  cannot,  sii',  in  regard  to  the  duty  of  perfect  candor 
which  1  owe  to  your  Royal  Highness,  avoid  saying  that  the  wild 
spii'it  of  aggression  which  of  late  time  has  raved  among  us,  has 
miserably  reduced  the  respect  in  which  every  good  government 
cannot  fail  to  be  held.  These  contests  for  dignity,  without  doubt, 
have  been  most  disastrous.  Alas,  Sir,  I  niuili  fear  that  dignity  is 
a  robe  whi<'h  he,  that  will  box  for  it,  must  lay  aside  during  the 
conthct,  and  there  is  gi-eat  risk  that  when  he  has  been  soundly 
threshed,  he  may  find,  like  Strap,  that  it  has  been  taken  away  dur- 
ing the  battle  by  the  honest  gentleman  who  undertook  to  keep  it. 
"But,  sir,  the  baleful  effects  of  this  violence  cannot  stop  here. 
It  is  too  visible  tliat  manners,  and  morals  too,  must  become  feroci- 
ated ;  so  that  there  can  be  no  doubt,  that  if  good  sense  and  feeling 
shall  not  make  the  edge  of  authority  more  blunt,  necessity  must 
soon  make  it  sharper  even  than  it  is.  If  tlu^  rider  will  not  sit 
quietly  on  his  saddle,  but  will  hold  his  seat  by  grappling  the  sides 
of  the  animal  with  his  sj)urs,  he  cannot  avoid  changing  to  a  bridle 
of  no  ordinaiy  force.  No  other  way  can  remain  for  restraining 
the  madness  he  provokes.  This,  sir,  in  my  conscience  I  am  con- 
vinced is  the  st-'ite  of  this  countiy  :  things  cannot  stay  as  they  are ; 
temporizing  palliatives  will  not  avail;  it  will  answer  no  end  to 
draw  upon  our  great  grandsons  in  favour  of  llie  great  gi'andsons 
of  the  Catholics,  for  liberty  to  be  granted  in  the  course  of  the  next 
century. 


4:16  LIFE   OF   CURRA.N. 

"  Mean  time,  for  I  moi-e  than  feel  how  much  I  have  passed  the 
limits,  I  cannot  but  hope  the  best  eftects  from  the  principle  of 
religious  freedom,  which  you  are  pleased  to  protect,  and  of  which 
you  will  be  so  powerful  a  patron,  and  so  bright  an  example. 

"Be  pleased,  sir,  to  accept  my  bumble  thanks  for  your  condes- 
cending wish,  that  I  should  have  the  honour  of  being  present  at 
the  meeting  of  the  friends  of  such  a  principle ;  as  I  find  it  is  no" 
to  be  immediate,  I  do  not  altogether  give  up  the  hope  of  being 
present,  but,  present  or  absent,  it  will  have  my  most  devout  prayers 
for  its  success,  I  have  the  honour,  sir,  to  be,  with  the  most  pro- 
found sense  of  attachment  and  resj^ect, 

"  Your  Royal  Highness'  dutiful  servant, 

"J.  P.  C." 


DECLINE   OF   CUKKAn's    Ii'v\r,TiI.  41' 


CHAPTER  XVIL 


Ml'.  Can-au's  health  declines — Letters  to  Mr.  Hetheriugton— resignation  of  his  judicial 
office — Letters  from  London  to  Mr.  Lube— Letters  from  Paris  to  the  same — His  last  ill- 
ne.ss  and  death. 


I.\  tlie  beginning  of  1813,  the  declining  (.•unJition  of  Mr.  Ourran's 
liealth  obliged  liim  to  meditate  the  resignation  of  his  judicial  office. 
While  he  was  in  London  in  the  month  of  April  of  that  year,  he 
suffered  a  severe  attack  of  intiamniation  in  his  chest.  His  illness, 
though  by  no  means  dangerous,  was  a  subject  of  considerable 
alarm  to  his  mind,  in  consequence  of  an  old  but  unfounded  opin- 
ion tJiat  his  lungs  were  naturally  weak;  a  mistake  into  which  he 
had  been  led  from  confounding  the  temporary  hoarseness  and 
e.xhaustion  wliich  usually  followed  every  great  exertion  in  public 
speaking  with  a  constitutional  debility  of  that  oi'gan.  There  is 
something  characteristic  in  his  manner  of  announcing  his  illness 
upon  this  occasion  to  his  friend  in  Dublin. 


to  r.  hetherington,  esq. 

"Dear  Dick, 

"  Really  I  think  rather  an  escape — I  have  been  confined  to 
to  my  bed  these  ten  days;  a  violent  attack  on  my  bivast— lungs 
not  touched — better  now,  but  veiy  low  an<l  weak.  I  can't  say 
with  certainty  when  I  can  set  out.  Will  you  let  Mr.  Lockwood 
(or  if  he  is  not  there  the  Chancellor)  know  my  situation  ;  a  wanton 
premature  effort  might  kill  me. 

"J.  r.  C." 

18* 


418  LIFE   OF   CURKAN. 


to   thk    same. 
"Dear  Dick, 

"  I  had  hoped  a  quicker  recovery,  but  the  fit  was  most  severe. 
I  thought  to  have  put  myself  into  a  chaise  to-morrow,  but  the 
physician  says  it  mig-ht  be  death,  unless  deferred  some  days 
longer.  The  malady  was  upon  the  breast ;  I  think  I  caught  it  by 
walking  from  Kensington — the  morning  was  snowy  and  the  wind 
east.  I  had  not  even  gone  to  a  play  but  once — I  nm  most  uneasy 
at  this  absence  from  court,  however  involuntaiy.  I  have  written 
to  Lord  Manners.  I  have  no  news ;  nothing  could  be  kinder,  or 
more  genei'al  than  the  fiattering  reception  I  have  met.  Still  I  am 
not  acting  hke  a  dying  man.  Surely  I  could  not  prepare  to  dance 
out  of  the  world  to  a  grand  forte-piano;  jo.t  they  talk  of  such  a 
thing.  The  town  is  also  full  of  rumours  of  a  silver  tea-pot,  &c. 
&c.''^  What  can  all  this  mean  ?  Doesn't  it  show  a  regard  for 
our  executors  ?     My  best  regards  to  fdl  ^bout  you,  and  with  you. 

"  J.  P.  C." 


Mr.  Curran  was  in  a  little  time  so  far  recovered  as  to  be  able  to 
resume  his  judicial  functions.  In  the  long  vacation  he  returned  as 
usual  to  England,  from  which  he  writes  as  follows. 

TO    RICHARD    HETHERINGTON,    ESQ.    DUBLIN. 

"  Cheltenham,  Septeiriber  3, 1813. 

"Dear  Dick, 

"You  ought  to  have  heard  from  me  before;  I  have  been  a 
truant ;  however,  in  fact  I  had  little  to  say :  I  am  here  now  ten 
days.  I  took  the  waters  ;  as  usual,  they  bore  down  whatever 
spirits  I  had  to  lose.     Yesterday  I  went  to  the  doctor;  he  told  me 


*  Wlien  Mr.  Curran  was  confined  to  his  bed  and  suffering  considerable  pain,  he  could 
not  abstain  from  the  same  playfulness.  His  medical  attendant  having  observed  one 
niirning,  that  he  found  he  couglied  witli  more  difiSculty  than  on  the  preceding  evening— 
•'  That's  ver^  surprising,"  replied  the  patient,  "  for  I  have  been  practising  all  night," — Q, 


LIONISING.  419 

I  had  taten  them  wrong  and  was  wrong  in  taking  tbein ;  that  I 
had  no  sj^mptom  of  any  disease  whatever ;  he  mentioned  also,  in 
confidence,  that  notice  had  been  taken  of  my  intimacy  with  Mrs. 
Forty ;  that  there  were  some  ladies  not  far  from  the  well,  strangers 
altogether  to  my  poor  dear,  in  whom  religion  had  turned  from 
milk,  and  soured  into  vinegar  ;  who  had  little  hope  of  being  talked 
ill  of  themselves,  and  who  made  it  a  moral  duty  to  slide  them- 
selves in  upon  the  market  jury  of  every  character,  and  give  a 
verdict  against  them  upon  their  own  knowledge ;  particularly  if 
there  were  any  circumstance  that  made  it  an  act  of  common 
mercy,  in  those  canters  of  slanderous  litanies,  to  be  silent  or 
merciful.  '  My  dear  sir,'  said  he, '  let  not  women  complain  of  their 
injuries  from  men,  when  they  are  such  odious  beasts  in  devour- 
ing one  another.'  In  truth,  my  dear  Dick,  it  is  frightful  to  see 
how  little  they  can  spare  their  friends,  when  they  can  make  them 
the  pretexts  for  venting  their  infernal  malice.  I  confess  it  has 
added  to  my  sickness  of  heart  against  that  country,*  of  which  I 
have  really  deserved  so  much. 

"  You  can  scarcely  believe  what  a  difierence  I  find  here — court- 
ed and  cherished  by  strangers;  I  assure  you  the  question  of 
celebrity  between  the  royal  tiger  and  me  is  not  quite  decided. 
The  change  of  scene  is  amusing,  so  is  the  diversity  of  characters ; 
there  is  a  moral  benefit  in  the  change  of  scene ;  you  look  back  to 
the  niche  you  filled  and  you  see  it  not :  how  minute  then  must  be 
the  little  thing  that  filled  it  ?  Here  too  every  body  is  as  intimate 
with  me  as  I  permit.  I  really  begin  to  think  that  the  best  tenure 
of  earthly  attachment  is  tenancy  at  will.  You  have  the  use  of 
the  soil,  and  the  way-going  crop ;  then  nothing  you  plant  shoots 
so  deeply  but  you  may  remove  it  without  injury  to  the  soil  or  to 
itself.  If  affections  strike  their  roots  far  into  the  heart,  they  can- 
not be  pulled  up  without  laceration  and  blood.  I  am  not  without 
an  idea  of  cutting  you  altogether :  I  could  easily  get  into  Parlia- 

*  Ii-eland.    Tho  censorious  ladies  in  question  were  bis  countrywomen.— 0, 


420  LIFE    OF    CURKAN. 

inent  and  on  my  own  terms,  but  the  object  would  not  jr.stify  a 
purchase;  and  I  need  not  tell  you,  I  would  not  submit  to  restric- 
tions. 

"  You  will  be  surprised  when  I  tell  you  that  I  have  the  highest 
authority  for  knowing  that  the  silly  malice  of  the  Castle  has  not 
had  the  smallest  impression  on  a  certain  high  quarter.  As  I  have 
jilted  Mrs.  Forty,  ray  head  is  getting  better,  and  I  shall  try  and 
write.  I  may  as  well  stay  here  sometime  as  any  where  else :  I  am 
afraid  of  London;  however,  T can't  but  pay  a  visit  to  the  Duke  of 
Sussex.  Will  you  enclose  "  Wagram "  to  Mr.  Reeves,  and  add 
my  resi)ects,  and  request  that  he  will  have  the  goodness  to  forward 
it  to  me  to  Cheltenham.  The  post  is  just  going  out — write  to  me 
by  return;  best  regards  to  the  hill.  I  begin  to  think  that  'com- 
pliments to  all  inquiring  friends '  genei'ally  dwindles  into  a  sine- 
cure. AVliat  of  the  poor  Prioiy  ?  we  have  passed  some  happy  and 
innocent  days  there.  God  bless  you,  dear  Dick,  prays  very  sin- 
cerely yours 

"J.  P.  C. 

"  P.  S.  These  senators  are  in  bed,  or  this  should  pass  more  free 
than  I  have  ever  been  able  to  do." 


to  the  same. 
"Dear  Dick, 

"  My  last  was  in  spleen  and  haste ;  this  is  a  postscript.  I  can 
scarcely  add  what  I  should  have  said,  because  I  forget  what  I 
did  say ;  no  doubt  I  was  too  vain  not  to  brag  of  the  civility  I 
have  met,  and  consequently  of  the  good  taste  of  every  body.  Did 
I  say  any  thing  of  the  Italian  countess,  or  the  French  count  lier 
uncle,  whose  legs  and  thighs  are  tuinied  into  grasshopper  spnngs 
by  a  canister-shot  at  the  battle  of  Novi  ?  She  talks  of  going 
westwai'd ;  as  Irish  scandal  does  not  talk  Italian,  and  as  she  can't 
speak  English,  she  may  be  safe  enough,  particularly  with  the 
assistance  of  a  Venetian  blind  !  Dear  Dick,  God  help  us !  I  find 
I  am  fast  recovering  from  the  waters ;  I  think  I'll  drink  no  moro 


"O    SLEEP."  421 

of  tliein ;  my  nerves  ai'O  imicli  more  composed,  and  my  spirits, 
though  far  fiom  good,  are  ru-jre  ijui'jt.  Why  may  not  the  wretch 
of  lo-morrow  be  happy  to-day  ?  I  am  not  much  inchned  to 
abstract  optimism,  but  I  often  tliink  Pope  was  right  wlieii  he  saii.l 
that  '  whatever  is,  is  right,'  tliough  he  was  perhaps  too  shallow  a 
moralist  to  Icnow,  not  why  he  thought  so,  but  why  he  said  so 
probably  'twas  like  your  own  poetry,  he  made  the  ends  of  flie 
lines  jingle  for  the  sake  of  tlie  rhyme. 

"Apropos  of  jingle.  I  foi'got,  I  believe,  to  beg  of  you  to  send 
lue  two  copies  of  '  O  Sleep !'  I  wrote  it  for  Braham.  I  sujipose 
the  air  not  correctly.  * 

"  Did  I  beg  of  you  to  see  and  to  direct  James  as  to  the  erections 
at  the  barn  ?  don't  forget  it ;  because,  perhaps,  I  may  see  the 
Priory  once  again.  I  dreamt  last  night  of  your  four-horse  stable, 
and  I  was  glad  to  find  all  well. 

"  You  can  scarcely  believe  what  a  good  humoured  compromise 
I  am  coming  into  with  hmnan  malice,  and  folly,  and  unfixedness. 
By  reducing  my  estimate  of  myself,  every  collateral  circumstancb 
sets  out  modestly  on  the  journey  of  huiuility  and   good   sense, 


*  TO     SLEEP. 


0  Sleep,  awhile  thy  power  suspending, 
Weigh  not  yet  my  eye-lid  down, 

For  Mem'ry,  see  !  with  Eve  attending, 
Claims  a  moment  for  her  own. 

1  know  her  bj'  her  robe  of  mourning, 
1  know  lier  by  her  faded  light, 

When  faithful  with  the  gloom  returning 
She  comes  to  bid  a  sad  good- night. 

Oh  !  let  me  here,  with  bosom  swelling, 

While  she  sighs  o'er  time  that's  past 
Oh  !  let  me  weep,  while  she  is  telling 

Of  joys  that  pine  and  pangs  that  last. 
A'  d  now,  0  sleep,  while  grief  is  streaming, 

Let  tliy  balm  sweet  peace  restore, 
While  fearful  hopt  through  tears  is  beamil.g, 

Soothe  to  rest  that  wukes  no  more, 


422  LIFE  OF  CURRAN. 

from  tlie  sign  of  tlie  Colossus  to  that  of  the  Pigmy,  where  the 
apartments  are  large  and  amjDie  for  the  lodger  and  his  train. 

"  Just  as  before,  the  post  is  on  my  heels ;  Richard  has  only  time 
to  put  this  in  the  office.  I  shall  probahly  soon  write  more  at  my 
leisure.  Compliments  at  the  hill :  ditto  repeated  shaking  the 
bottle. 

"J.  r.  c." 

"The  Scotch  indorser  of  this  gave  me  my  dinner  yesterday  . 
champagne  and  soda.  He  votes  with  the  Ministers.  I  gave  a 
lecture,  and  got  glory  for  rebuking  a  silly  fellow  that  tried  to  sing 
an  improper  song  in  the  presence  of  his  son.  'Thunders  of 
applause.'  " 

TO     THE     SAME. 

"  Cheltenham. 

"Dear  Dice, 

"  I  have  not  been  well  here — these  old  blue  devils,  I  fear,  have 
got  a  lease  of  me.  I  wonder  the  more  at  it,  because  T  have  been 
in  a  constant  round  of  very  kind  and  pleasant  society.  To- 
morrow Sir  Frederick  Faulkner  and  I  set  out  for  London.  I  don't 
turn  my  face  to  the  metroplis  con  amore,  but  the  Duke  of  Sussex 
might  not  take  it  well  if  I  did  not  call  upon  him — so  I  go,  being 
at  once  an  humble  friend  and  a  patriot.  Low  as  I  have  been  my- 
self in  spirits,  I  could  not  but  be  attracted  with  the  style  of  society 
and  conversation  here,  particularly  tht  talents  and  acquirements 
of  females — I  am  sorry  to  say,  few  of  them  our  cf  untry women. 
The  vulgarity  too  and  forwardness  of  some  of  our  heroes  quite 
terrible.  On  the  whole,  however,  perhaps,  I'm  the  better  for  the 
jaunt." 


Early  in  the  following  year,  in  consequence  of  the  still  declining 
condition  of  his  health  and  spirits,  Mr.  Curraa  resigned  his  judi- 
cial situation.  Upon  which  tlie  folbwing  address  was  presented 
to  him  by  the  Catholic  Board : — 


feEtiliKS   FKOM    I'UBLiC   LITE.  423 

"  to  the  right  honourable  john  philpot  curran, 

«  Sir, 

"  The  general  board  of  the  Catholics  of  Ireland  feel  it  their 
duty  to  address  you  on  your  resignation  of  the  high  office  to  which 
your  talents  were  called,  and  the  duties  of  which  you  have  dis- 
dischai-ged  with  the  courtesy  of  a  gentleman  ;  the  abilities  of  a 
lawyer  ;  the  dignity  of  a  judge  ;  and  the  charactei'istic  integrity 
which  has  ever  distinguished  you.  Taking  a  review  of  a  life  de- 
voted to  the  service  of  your  country,  and  the  cause  and  the  interest 
of  i)ublic  and  private  liberty,  we  shall  ever  hold  in  proud  and  grate- 
ful remembrance  the  energy  which  you  displayed  in  resisting  oppres- 
sion, and  defending  the  rights  of  the  subject  and  the  constitution ; 
the  independent  spirit  with  which  you  met  the  frowns  and  seduc- 
tions of  power ;  the  intrepidity  with  which  you  vindicated  your 
insulted  and  maligned  country,  and  the  sacrifices  which  you  made 
at  the  shrine  of  public  virtue.  The  freedom  and  the  privileges  of 
your  profession,  so  closely  connected  with  those  of  tlie  public,  you 
upheld  both  at  the  bar  and  on  the  bench.  The  first  flight  of  your 
juvenile  genius  was  a  noble  and  generous  defence  of  an  obscure 
but  respectable  individual  against  a  lawless  assault  of  tyrannical 
power.  You  have  unifoi-mly  opposed  that  bigoted,  that  baneful 
policy,  which  impiously  tries  the  principles  of  man  by  his  religi- 
ous creed.  You  have  maintained  the  great  and  sound  j)rinciple 
of  religious  liberty.  A  just,  a  liberal,  and  an  enlightened  mind 
abhors  the  pernicious  system  of  excluding  from  equal  rights  those 
wlio  contribute  equally  to  the  support  of  the  state  with  their  pro- 
perty and  their  lives ;  a  system  which  sacrifies  the  liberty  of  the 
country  to  protect  the  monopoly  of  a  party,  and  whi(.']i,  by  perpet- 
uating division  and  discord,  saps  the  foundation  of  all  social  inter- 
course. You,  Sir,  and  the  other  illustrious  advocates  of  Irish 
prosperity,  ai'e  well  aware  that  the  total  extiiictioii  vl  such  a 
system  is  absolutelv  essential  to  the  consolidation  and  ponnaiiciico 
of  the  general  strength  of  the  empii'e.  rermit  us,  therelbre,  sir, 
to  indulge  our  earnest  liope,  that  your  splendid  talents,  emerging 
from  the  eclipse  of  judicial  station,  and  reviving  under  that  nam« 


d:2-i  LIFE   OF   CtKEAN. 

whicLi  has  attached  the  hearts  of  your  countrymen,  wi  I  again  be 
exerted  in  the  service  of  Ireland." 

MR.    CURRAn's    answer. 

"  Gentlemen, 

"Be  pleased  to  accept  ray  warmest  acknowledgment  for  this 
flattering  mark  of  your  approbation  and  regard.  So  far  as  hones- 
ty of  intention  can  hold  the  place  of  desert,  I  can  indulge  even  a 
proud  feeling  at  this  proof  of  your  good  opinion,  because  I  have 
no  secret  consciousness  that  can  blush  wliile  I  receive  it.  I  have 
early  thought  that  the  mere  fact  of  birth  imposes,  by  the  autho 
rity  of  God,  a  loyalty  to  country,  binding  the  conscience  of  man 
beyond  the  force  of  any  technical  allegiance,  and  still  more  devoted 
and  excusable.  To  our  unhappy  country  I  know  that  this  senti- 
ment was  little  better  than  barren  ;  however,  what  I  had  I  gave. 
I  might  have  often  sold  her— I  could  not  redeem  her.  I  gave  her 
the  best  sympathies  of  my  heart,  sometimes  in  tears,  sometimes  in 
indignation,  sometimes  in  hope,  but  oftener  in  despondence.  I  am 
repaid  far  beyond  my  claim ;  for  what  I'eward  can  be  more  pre- 
cious than  the  confidence  and  affection  of  those  for  whom  we  could 
not  think  any  sacrifice  too  great  ?  I  am  still  farther  repaid  by  see- 
ing that  we  have  arrived  at  a  season  that  gives  us  so  fair  a  pro- 
spect of  better  da3-s  than  we  have  passed.  When  I  view  these 
awful  scenes  that  are  daily  marking  the  interposition  of  Providence 
in  punishment  or  retribution,  that  teach  rulers  to  reflect,  and 
nations  to  hope,  I  cannot  yield  to  the  infidelity  of  despair,  nor 
bring  myself  to  suppose  that  we  are  destined  to  be  ar  exception  to 
the  uniformity  of  divine  justice,  and  that  in  Ireland  alone  the  ways 
of  God  shall  not,  in  his  good  time,  be  vindicated  to  man,  but  that 
we  are  to  spend  our  valour  and  our  blood  in  assisting  to  break  the 
chains  of  ever}^  other  nation,  and  in  riveting  our  own ;  and  that 
when  the  most  gallant  of  our  countrymen  return  to  us,  laden 
with  o-iorv  and  with  shame,  we  are  to  behold  them  drao-o-ing  about 
an  odious  fetter,  with  the  cypress  and  the  laurel  intertwined.  On 
the  contrary,  I  feel  mvself  cheered  and  consoled  by  those  indija- 


BKPLY   TO   TIIIC   CATHOLIC    BOAKD.  4:2 O 


O 


tioiis,  whicli  inspire  the  strung  hope  that  the  eml  of  our  aliliclion 
is  rapidly  advancing,  and  that  we  shall  soon  be  placed  in  a  con- 
ffition  where  we  shall  cease  to  be  a  reproach  to  the  justice 
and  wisdom  of  Great  Britan.  'J'he  calinnnies  of  our  enemies  have 
been  refuted,  and  have  left  no  impression  behind  them,  save  a 
generous  regret  that  they  could  ever  have  been  believed.  It  is 
with  no  ordinary  feeling  of  condonation  and  respect  that  we  should 
hail  the  awaking  of  a  nation,  formed  to  be  illustrious,  from  the 
trance  of  a  bigotry  that  cannot  be  refuted,  because  it  does  not 
reason;  that,  like  eveiy  other  intoxication,  stupefies  while  it  in- 
flames, and  evaporates  only  by  sleep.  It  becomes  us  to  congratu- 
late on  the  recovery  without  retrospect  to  the  time  it  may  have 
cost.  Within  the  short  limits  even  of  a  year,  the  spirit  of  a  just 
and  liberal  policy  has  assumed  a  station  that  scarcely  could  be 
hoped  from  the  growth  o-f  centuries.  That  wise  couiitiy  has 
learned  to  see  us  as  we  are;  to  compare  our  sufferings  witli  oiu* 
merits  and  our  claims  ;  and  to  feel  that  every  kind  and  tender 
sympathy  that  speaks  to  the  heait  or  head  of  a  man  in  favour  of 
his  fellow-subjects  is  calling  upon  lier  to  put  au  end  to  the 
paroxysms  of  that  gaol  fever  which  imist  for  ever  ferment  and 
fester  in  the  imprisonment  of  a  nation,  m\d  to  do  it  in  a  Avny  that 
shall  attach  while  it  redresses,  and  bind  a  blended  empire  in  tho 
bond  of  equal  interest  and  reciprocal  affection.  We  are  asking 
for  no  restorative;  the  legislature  has  none  to  give;  we  ask  onlv 
for  what  is  perfectly  in  its  power  to  bestow;  that  deobstrueiit 
wiiich  may  enable  the  human  creature,  even  by  a  slow  convales- 
cence, to  exert  the  powers  of  his  nature,  and  give  effect,  by  ihe 
progress  of  his  happiness  and  virtue,  to  the  beneficence  of  that 
Being  whicli  could  not  have  permanently  designed  him  for  the 
sufferings  or  tlie  vices  of  a  slave.  In  your  anxiety  for  the  honour 
of  the  bar,  I  cannot  but  see  an  auspicious  omen  of  j'our  near  ap- 
proach to  the  possession  of  such  a  treasure  that  deserves  so  high 
a  protection.  Short  is  the  time  tiiat  lias  passed  since  you  could 
not  iiave  adverted  to  that  subject  without  a  mixture  of  shame  and 


426  LIFE  OF  OUJJRAN. 

anguisL  ;  but  you  can  now  resort  to  persons  of  your  own  religious 
persuasions  for  those  great  talents  for  whose  purity  you  are  so 
justly  anxious.  You  are  certainly  right  in  thinking  the  independ- 
ence of  the  bar  the  only  unfailing  safeguard  of  justice,  and  of  that 
liberty  without  which  justice  is  but  a  name.  It  is  the  equal  pro- 
tection of  the  people  against  the  state,  and  of  the  state  against 
the  people.  If  Erskine  had  lived  in  the  dark  times  of  the  second 
James,  it  might  have  saved  his  country  from  the  pain  of  reading 
the  events  of  those  days,-  when  the  Court  could  procure  a  bench, 
but  the  subject  could  not  find  a  bar.  It  is  with  an  emotion  diffi- 
cult to  describe  that  I  see  how  easily  our  hearts  are  betrayed  into 
an  exaggerated  estimation  of  those  we  are  supposed  to  love.  You 
are  pleased  to  bespeak  the  continuance  of  my  poor  efforts  in  the 
cause  of  Ireland.  I  cannot  without  regret  reflect  how  feeble  they 
would  be ;  but  I  am  fully  consoled  in  the  idea,  that  they  would  be 
as  unnecessary  as  inefficient.  It  is  still  no  more  than  justice  to 
myself  to  say,  that  if  an  opportunity  should  occur,  and  God  be 
pleased  to  let  it  be  accompanied  by  health,  my  most  ardent  affec- 
tions would  soon  find  the  channel  in  which  they  had  flowed  so 
long.  A  devoted  attachment  to  our  country  can  never  expire  but 
with  my  last  breath.  It  is  a  sentiment  that  has  been  the  compan- 
ion of  my  life :  and  though  it  may  have  sometimes  led  to  what 
you  kindly  call  sacrifices,  it  has  also  given  me  the  most  invaluable 
consolation.  And  even  when  the  scene  shall  come  to  a  close,  I 
trust  that  sentiment  shall  be  the  last  to  leave  me,  and  that  I  shall 
derive  some  consol  ition  in  the  reflection,  that  I  have  been  a  zeal- 
ous, though  an  improfitable,  servant. 

[This  appears  the  proper  place  to  introduce  some  of  Charles 
Phillips'  reminiscences  of  Mr.  Curran.     He  says  : 

"  It  was  during  Mr.  Curran's  occupancy  of  the  Rolls  bench  that 
I  had  the  happiness  x)f  making  his  acquaintance.  It  soon  became 
intimacy,  and  so  continued  to  his  death.  A  higher  privilege 
could  scarcely  be  enjoyed  than  his  society  conferred.     Its  simpli- 


REOOLLECTiONsS    OF   CUJRRAlJ.  427 

city  was  Its  greatest  charm.  Kq  could  aftbnl  to  discard  his  great- 
ness, and  lie  did  so.  There  was  nothing  of  the  senator,  or  the 
orator,  or  the  judicial  dignitary,  or  the  superior  in  any  way  about 
him ;  but  he  was  Curran,  better  and  greater  than  all  of  them  com- 
bined. Ostentation  was  a  stranger  to  his  home ;  so  was  formality 
of  any  kind.  His  table  was  simple,  his  wines  choice,  his  welcome 
warm,  and  his  conversation  a  luxury  indeed.  His  habits  were 
peculiar — some  of  them  perhaps  eccentric.  For  instance,  an  old 
person  was  scarcely  ever  seen  within  his  dwelling.  I  can  remem- 
ber but  three,  and  they  were  professionally  connected  with  himself 
or  his  court.  Although,  as  has  been  seen,  risking  his  life  reck- 
lessly enough,  he  had  an  aversion  to  anything  that  was  associated 
with  death.  Hence  the  aspect  of  old  age  depressed  him,  while 
youth's  joyousness  semed  to  revive  his  own.  Of  his  early  bar 
associates,  whose  countenances  indicated  the  ravages  of  time,  I 
never  remember  one  as  a  guest  at  the  Priory.  But  it  was  a  daily 
custom,  when  his  court  had  risen,  to  stroll  through  the  hall, 
recruiting  his  dinner  company  from  the  juniors.  There  were 
seldom  more  than  half  a  dozen,  and  it  was  on  such  occasions  he 
shone  to  most  advantaofe.  No  one  who  did  not  see  him  when  he 
was  at  his  best  can  have  any  idea  of  his  exquisite  companionship. 
There  was  undoubtedly  a  reverse  to  the  medal.  He  was  occasion- 
ally the  dullest  of  the  dull,  weighed  down  to  the  earth  by  some 
constitutional  dejection.  He  was  very  far  from  being  a  happy 
man.  Social  misfortune  aggravated  a  melancholy  which  was 
inherent  in  his  nature.  When  irritated  or  discomposed,  he  could 
render  himself,  as  I  have  heard,  though  I  had  no  experience  of  it, 
inconceivably  disagreeable.  This,  however,  was  rare,  and,  when 
he  was  in  one  of  his  happy  veins,  no  one  ever  equalled  him.  Lord 
Byron  wrote  of  him  that  he  had  fifty  faces :  he  might  have  added 
fifty  voices  and  fifty  natures,  in  the  assumption  of  which  he,  for 
the  moment,  merged  his  own  identity.  His  powers  of  imitation 
were  marvellous  and  irresistible.  He  was  the  parish  priest,  the 
Munster  peasant,  the  coal-<|uay  fish-woman,  the  joval  squireen,  and 


428  LIFE   OF   CUERAN. 

the  illiterate  squire,  each  in  their  turn,  and  each  a  facsimile.  He 
not  niei'ely  aped  the  manner,  but  he  either  disphiyed  the  mind  Dt" 
the  individual,  or  ascribed  to  liim  some  drollery  which  much 
enhanced  the  humor  of  the  assumption.  Thus,  when  asked  by 
Lord  Byron  to  give  him  some  idea  of  Mr.  Gi'attan,  bowing  hjwiy 
to  the  ground,  he  expi'essed  his  gratitude  that  neither  in  pei-.son 
nor  o'esture  was  he  obnoxious  to  imitation.  That  great  man  v/as 
composed  of  peculiarities.  In  stock  stories  his  treasury  was  rich, 
and  the  perilous  attempt  to  draw  on  it  was  generally  assigned  to 
me.  Howev'er,  failure  was  rare.  He  was  too  simple  to  sus|)ei-t, 
and  too  facile  to  refuse.  For  instance,  when  the  vulgar  2>omp()Hitij 
of  the  Mayor  of  Cork  was  to  be  elicited,  the  wine  was  tasted,  the 
lips  were  smacked,  and  the  glass  hehl  up  scientifically  to  the 
candle.  Mr.  Curi-an,  this  strikes  me  as  veiy  fine  clai'et.  0 
dear !  you  are  very  good  to  say  so ;  it's  the  red  wax,  the  best  I 
have.  I  can't  compliment  you  as  my  cousin  the  Mayor  of  Cork 
did  the  Lord  Lieutenant  when  he  was  entertaining  him  :  '  Mi-. 
Mayor  this  is  very  choice  wine.'  'Does  your  Excellency  think  so  ? 
Why  it  is  good  wine,  your  Excellency,  but  iCs  nothing  at  all  to 
some  Tve  got  in  my  cellar!!  And  then  he  followed  up  his  own 
jest  with  the  short,  sharp,  dry,  familiar  laugh,  which  he  nevei 
refused  to  that  of  another.  When  - Curi'an  really  enjoyed  his 
evening,  and  the  bottle  had  circulated  sufficiently,  it  was  some- 
times his  custom,  when  the  weather  permitted,  to  adjourn  to  the 
gardens.  The  walk  was  refreshing,  and  always  preluded  grilled 
bones,  and  plenty  of  what  in  Ireland  was  then  called  '  the 
MATERIALS ' — namely,  scalding  water,  lemon,  sugar,  and  the  pot- 
theen — for  a  definition  of  which,  see  Miss  Edgeworth.  There  were 
always  beds  for  the  guests  at  tlie  Priory — a  precaution  by  no 
means  inconsiderate.  When  breakfast  came,  it  was  somewhat 
problematical  how  the  party  were  to  return.  If  all  was  propitious, 
the  carriage  was  in  waiting;  if  a  cloud  was  seen,  however,  the 
question  came,  '  Gentlemen,  how  do  you  propose  getting  to 
court?''     Ominous  was  tlie  sileuce  which  ushered  in  the  summons 


IN  nm  i.ATE ::  days.  429 

'Richard,  harness  the  mide  to  ^lie  jaunting  car,  and  1;ike  tlic  gen- 
tlemen to  town !'  One  of  lids  worthy  aninvd's  most  favorite 
pastimes  was  to  carry  the  company  into  a  ponl  of  walcr.whirh  lay 
l)y  the  roa<l  side!  Of  oouiso  tlic  host  kne\>'  nothinp;  of  the  mule's 
iocnlaritv,  and  most  certainlv  it  never  was  suo-o-ested  to  him  hv 
any  refusal  of  an  invitation  to  the  Priory. 

"Although  himself  so  admirable  a  mimic,  he  by  no  means 
relished  being  made  a  subje(;t.  One  day  ])eing  apprised  that  a 
gentleman  (hen  ]>resenl  personated  him  to  the  life,  Curran  atlected 
to  request  a  performance ;  entreaty  and  evasion  were  moi-e  than 
once  repeated,  when  he  teruiinnted  the  sccnie :  AVell,  indeed,  my 
dear  "W.,  Vm  sadly  disappointed.  It  must  be  an  anmsing  thing 
to  see  a  cat  running  across  a  piano,  and  calliuf/  it  riiKsic. 

"Mr.  Curran  sprang  from  the  people,*  and  Ik-  not  only  never 
forgot  it,  but  was  proud  of  ih  His  associates  an  ere  not  of  the 
aristocracy,  if,  indeed,  such   a   t(M-iii   was  applicable   to  the  very 

*  Mr.  Curran  was  particularly  sensitive  to  any  mark  of  respect  or  confidence  on  the 
part  of  the  lower  ordeics.  In  one  of  his  little  poems  he  commemorates  with  much  satis: 
faction. 

"  A  Cioppy  heifer  spared  by  Holt." 

I'his  iiuli  was  an  extraordinary  man.  He  was  a  farmer  and  dealer  in  wool,  originally 
keeping  aloof  from  politics.  Of  a  liberal  cast  of  mind,  however,  he  refused  to  take  any 
part  against  his  Roman  Catholic  countrymen.  This,  in  such  times,  was  quite  sufficient  to 
render  him  a  marked  man,  and  being  so,  a  domiciliary  visit  was  paid  to  his  house  on  the 
breaking  out  of  the  rebellion  of  179S.  He  was  not  at  home,  and  the  visitors  burned  the 
house  and  property  to  ashes  !  Ilendered  desperate  by  this,  he  repaired  to  a  cave  in  the 
Devil's  Gkn,  in  tlie  county  of  Wicklow.  Here  he  found  some  United  Irishmen,  refugees 
like  himself,  and,  in  the  frame  of  mind  in  which  he  was,  was  easily  jiersuaded  to  take  the 
oath  and  become  their  general.  In  a  week  he  was  at  the  head  of  one  hundred  and  six- 
teen men,  and  many  hundreds  afterward  joined  him.  He  became  an  admirable  guerilla 
chief,  and,  during  six  months,  kept  the  whole  power  of  the  government  at  bay.  AVtrfi 
acquainted  with  the  Wicklow  mountains,  and  possessing  both  skill  and  intrepidity.  Holt 
proved  himself  more  than  a  match  for  the  king's  officers.  At  le.igth  some  noble  traits  of 
charactei'  which  he  exhibited  induced  Lord  Powerscourt  to  open  a  negoliatlon  with  liim. 
Holt  consented  to  expatriate  himself  to  New  South  Wales,  which  he  did  ;  but  soiin  receiv- 
ing a  free  pardon,  he  returned  to  Ireland,  where  he  died  in  1S2G.  Holt  was  a  very 
superior  man  of  his  class,  and  proved  himself  a.  formidable  antagonist.  He  wrote  and 
published  Ills  life.  His  men,  in  one  of  tiieir  forays  .-arried  off,  with  other  cattle,  a  cow 
of  Curran's,  whose  house  was  near  the  mountains.  However,  when  Holt  saw  the 
initials  "  J.  P.  C."  branded  on  one  of  the  horns,  he  guessed  to  whom  the  animal  belonged 
and  scut  it  home  with  a  complimentary  apology. 


430  LIFE   OF   CUEEAN. 

arrogant  and  very  ignorant  persoii§  who  at  tliat  time  usurped  it 
in  Ireland.  113  heartily  despised  them.  lie  never  was  of  the 
Castle  or  their  set.  Before  the  Union  he  was  generally  in  opposi- 
tion, and  after  that  tin  "Viceroy  appeared  to  him  only  as  a  titled 
memorial  of  the  country's  degradation.  He  used  to  talk,  indeed, 
of  his  poor  cottage,  as  he  called  it,  having  been  graced  by  the 
choicest  spirits  of  the  land — not  culled  for  their  biith  from  a  dull 
peerage,  nor  for  their  possessions  from  an  ignorant  proprietary, 
but  from  men  risen  from  the  ranks — from  the  Duquerys,  Yelver- 
tons,  and  Grattans,  whose  personal  merits  flung  pedigree  into  the 
shade.  There  was  in  his  own  manner  that  easy  and  urbane 
courteousness  which  if  not  derived  from  nature,  is  very  difficult 
of  acquisition."] 

Shortly  after  his  resignation  he  passed  over  to  London,  in  order 
to  proceed  to,  and  take  a  last  look  at,  France,  now  once  more 
accessible  from  the  fall  of  Napoleon.  He  addressed  several  let- 
ters from  London  and  Paris  to  one  of  his  intimate  friends  in  Ire- 
land.* Of  these  the  following  selection  will  be  found  to  contain 
his  opinions  at  large  upon  the  interesting  events  that  had  lately 
passed,  and  upon  the  state  of  society  in  those  rival  capitals : 


TO    DENIS    LUBE,    ESQ.,    DUBLIN. 

"  London,  June,  1814. 

"  My  Dear  Lube, 

"  I  AM  not  many  days  in  London ;  yet  am  I  as  sick  of  it,  as 
ever  I  was  of  myself.  No  doubt  it  is  not  a  favourable  moment 
for  society ;  politics  spoil  every  thing ;  it  is  a  perpetual  tissue  of 
plots,  cabals,  low  anxiety,  and  disappointment.  Every  thing  I 
see  disgusts  and  depresses  me ;  I  look  back  at  the  streaming  of 
blood  for  so  many  years;  and  every  thing  everywhere  relapsed 
into  its  former  degradation.     France  rechained — Spain  again  sad- 

*  Mr.  D.  Lube,  of  the  Irish   bar  ;  a  gentleman  of  pecvliarly  estimable  character,  In 
whom  Mr.  Cuvran  reposed  the  most  uobounded  confidence. — C. 


MODERN    SOCIETY.  431       ' 

died  for  the  priests — and  Ireland,  like  a  bastinadoed  elephant, 
k/ieelin<>'  to  receive  the  paltry  rider :  atid  what  makes  the  idea 
tlie  more  cutting,  her  fate  the  work  of  her  own  ignorance  and 
fury.  She  has  completely  lost  all  sympathy  here,  and  I  see  no 
prospect  for  her,  except  a  vindictive  oppression  and  and  an 
endlessly  increasing  taxation.  God  give  us  not  happiness,  but 
patience ! 

"  I  have  fixed  to  set  out  for  I'arls  on  Tuesday  with  Mr.  W.  lie 
is  a  clever  man,  pleasant,  informed,  up  to  every  thing,  can  dis- 
count the  bad  spirits  of  a  friend,  and  has  undertaken  all  trouble. 
I  don't  go  for  society,  it  is  a  mere  name ;  but  the  thing  is  to  be 
found  no  where,  even  in  this  cliilly  region.  I  question  if  it  is 
much  better  in  Paris.  Here  the  parade  is  gross,  and  cold,  and 
vulgar ;  there  it  is,  no  doubt,  more  flippant,  and  the  attitude  more 
graceful ;  but  in  either  place  is  not  society  equally  a  tyrant  and  a 
slave  ?  The  judgment  despises  it,  and  the  heart  renounces  it. 
We  seek  it  because  we  are  idle,  we  are  idle  because  we  are  silly  ; 
the  natural  remedy  is  some  social  intercourse,  of  which  a  few  drops 
would  restore;  but  we  swallow  the  whole  phial,  and  are  sicker 
of  the  remedy  than  we  Avere  of  the  disease.  We  do  not  reflect 
that  the  variety  of  converse  is  found  only  with  a  very  few,  selected 
by  our  regard,  and  is  ever  lost  in  a  promiscuous  rabble,  in  whom 
we  cannot  have  any  real  interest,  and  where  all  is  monotony.  We 
have  had  it  some  times  at  the  Priory,  notwithstanding  the  bias  of 
the  ball  that  still  made  it  roll  to  a  particular  side.  I  harve  enjoyed 
it,  not  long  since,  for  a  few  hours  in  a  week  with  as  small  a  number, 
where  too  there  was  no  smartness,  no  wit,  no  petty  affectation,  no 
repartee ;  but  where  the  heart  will  talk,  the  tongue  may  be  silent — 
a  look  will  be  a  sentence,  and  the  shortest  phrase  a  vohnne.  No; 
be  assured  if  the  fancy  is  not  led  astraj^,  it  is  only  in  Ihe  coterie 
that  thu  (hirst  of  the  animal  being  can  be  slaked,  or  the  pure 
luxury  and  anodyne  of  his  life  be  found.  lie  is  endeared  and  ex- 
alted by  being  surpassed;  he  cannot  be  jealous  of  the  weallh, 
however  greater  than  his,  which  is  expended  for  his  pleasure,  and 


i32  L.i'J-:    vf    CCJRRAN. 

wliioli  in  fact,  he  feels  to  he  his  own.  As  well  might  an  alderman 
become  envious  of  the  calabash  in  which  his  soul  delights  before 
the  Lord.  But  we  arc-  for  ever  mistaking  the  plumage  for  the  bird : 
perhaps  we  are  justl}'  punished  by  seeking  happiness  where  it  is 
ii<:)t  gis'cn  bv  nature  to  find  it.  Eight  or  ten  lines  back  I  looked 
at  my  watch  ;  I  saw  'twas  half-past  six,  the. hour  at  which  dinner, 
with  a  friend  or  two,  was  to  be  precisely  on  the  table.  I  went — 
was  presented  to  half  'a  dozr^u  dial  plates  that  I  never  saw  before, 
and  that  looked  as  if  they  had  never  told  the  hour  of  the  day.  I 
sat  gHgged — stayed  twenty  nu'nuics — came  back  to  write,  leaving 
Richar<l  to  bring  me  woi'd  if,  between  this  and  to-morrow,  the 
miserable  mess  shall  be  flung  into  the  trough.  How  complete  a 
picture  this  of  glare  without  worth,  and  attitude  without  action.  '  My 
tem])er,'  to  quote  myself,  '  aiid  my  dinner  lost'  Ca-j  it  have  been 
the  sci-ious  intention  of  Providence  that  affectation  should,  obtain 
these  trium])hs  over  sense  and  comfort?  and  yet,  really  my  host 
is  a  very  good  fellow  in  the  main. 

"  "I'is  now  half-past  seven — no  Richai'd.  I  had  just  put  on  my 
hat  to  go  to  the  next  coffee-house,  but  T  resolved  to  punish  myself 
f(ii-  the  [)etty  peevishness  of  being  angry,  because  every  one  has 
not  as  nnich  good  sense  as  I  think  I  have  oysolf.  I  am  now  wish- 
ing there  nuiy  be  no  dinner  till  ten,  that  I  luay  have  the  glory  of 
self-punishment — 

'  Judico  me  creniari, 
in  continuation — 

'  Et  combnstus  fui.'  * 

"  W'c  sat  down  at  eight,  sixteen  strong,  but  it  had  nothing  of  a 

*  Mr.  Curran  alludes  to  an  anecdote  related  by  Sir  William  Bu-.ckstone,  in  one  of  the 
notes  to  his  Commentaries.  In  the  reign  of  Henry  the  Sixth,  the  Chancellor  of  Oxford 
claimed  the  right  of  trying  an  action  brought  against  himself ;  upon  which  occasion  his 
counsel,  Sergeant  llolfe,  introduced  the  following  oiirlous  argument  in  support  of  ilie 
claim  :—t/ftf  cows  dirai  un  fable.  En.  usam  tamps  fuit-^iii  pape  ct  avoit/aii  un 
grnnd  offence,  et  le  can/iniils  vi)idre?it  a  liiy  et  disoyent  a  lv.y  "pfvcanii  ;"  el  U  dit, 
^'judiuamc;"  et  Us  disoyent,  "non  posstunits,  quia  caput  et  ecclesioe, ;  yudicu  t'/ip- 
««??;.•"  et  I'tipostol  dit,  "judico  me  cremari,'''' et  fwit  oorr.'bustus ;  et  apres  fait  uih 
minet.  M  in  ceo  cas  ilfuil  son  juge  demene,  et  iasint  n^esi  pas  inconvenient  t^ue  un 
Kome  soitjuge  demene. — Bla.  Com.  Book  3,  p.  299,  note. 


POLITICS.  433 

eoterie.  I  sat  next  to  a  pleasantish  sort  of  a  lady  ;  but  alas !  a  look 
of  attention  is  not  a  look  of  affiance :  there  are  graciousnesses  that 
noither  identify  nor  attract ;  and  as  to  the  atmosphere  that  sported 
on  her  dimples,  I  would  just  as  soon  have  had  a  thimbleful  of 
common  air.  After  all,  how  rare  the  coincidences  that  conciliate 
atfection  and  exclusive  confidence !  how  precarious  1 

'For  either 
He  never  shall  find  out  fit  mate,  but  such 
As  some  misfortune  bring  him,  or  mistalve  ; 
Or  whom  he  wishes  most  shall  seldom  gain. 

Or  if  she  love,  withheld 
By  parents,  or  his  happiest  choice  too  late 
Shall  meet  already  linlved  and  wedlock-bound 
To  a  fell  adversary,  his  hate  or  shame.' 


"Milton,  you  see,  with  all  his  rigour,  was  not  insensible  of  these 
lachrymcc  rerum.  There  is  one  thing  tha.t  ought  to  make  us  hum 
ble  and  patient.  When  we  are  close  enough  for  the  inspection  of 
others,  we  soon  find  that  '  life  is  eternal  war  with  woe.'  Many, 
too,  are  doomed  to  '  suffer  alone ;'  and,  after  all,  would  not  a  truly 
generous  nature  prefer  the  monopoly  of  its  own  ills  rather  than 
fling  any  part  of  them  upon  a  kindred  bo,5cro  ? 

"  You  ask  me  about  politics.  Regarding  myself,  my  answer  is — 
I  had  no  object  in  pai'liament  except  the  Catholic  question,  and 
that  1  fear  is  gone.  Westminster  will  pi-obably  be  a  race  of 
bribery,  equally  dangerous  and  precarious.*  Uurdett's  conduct 
has  been  (piite  that  of  a  friend  and  a  man :  he  would  have  been 
most  ardent,  and  what  was  to  me  most  grateful,  on  a  public 
ground.  I  dined  with  him  yesterday;  at  first  the  party  was 
numerous — the  masquerade,  about  ten,  drained  them  down  to 
three,  my  compagnon  de  voyage  and  myself;  till  one  it  was  quite 

*  It  was  expected  at  this  time  that  there  would  shortly  be  a  vacancy  in  the  represen- 
tation for  Westminster,  in  which  event  Mr.  Curran  liad  been  encouraged  to  offer  himself  as 
a  candidate,  but  he  never  entered  warmly  into  the  scheme.  This  is  the  political  prqject 
to  which  he  adverts  more  than  once  in  his  subsequer  t  letters. — C. 

]9 


4:34  LIFE   OF   CUKRAK. 

a  coterie  ;  with  no  wine,  there's  no  playing  on  an  instrument  with 
many  strings ;  half  of  them  form  only  base  accompaniments. 

"I  thought  to  have  gone  incog,  to  Paris,  but  my  excellent 
fi-iend,  the  Duke  of  Sussex,  insisted  on  my  taking  a  letter  t'> 
Monsieur.     [After  Charles  X.] 

'  So  now  cocked  hats,  and  swords,  and  laces, 
And  servile  bows  and  low  grimaces  : 
For  what  at  court  the  lore  of  Pascal 
AVeighed  'gainst  the  crouchings  of  a  rascal  V 

"  As  to  my  stay  there,  everywhere  is  to  me  nowhere ;  there 

fore,  if  it  depends  on  me,  I  shall  drop  off  when  I'm  full,  or  Mr.  W 

will  haul  me  along.     If  our  friends  have  any  wish,  it  ought  to 

decide,  and  shall  do  so.     I  cannot  endure  to  be  conscious  of  any 

retaliating  sulk  in  myself;  and  I  know  that  heaven  loveth  the 

cheerful  giver. 

"  Yours,  &c., 

"  J.  r.  c." 


TO    THE    SAME. 

"  London,  June,  1814. 

"  Dear  Lube, 

"Just  received  your  kind  fragment.  I  cannot  say  I  read  it 
vithout  some  pain.  When  fortune  deigns  to  favour,  particularly 
f  there  is  any  port  and  dignity  in  her  condescension,  we  are  apt 
to  fc(;l  any  (It/L-liuaLiii'i  from  the  consistency  of  her  kindness.  If 
she  has  justly  entitled  herself  to  stand  upon  a  high  pedestal,  she 
cannot  sink  into  any  pettishness  without  affliction  to  the  votary, 
who  may  be  too  apt  to  fear  that  there  may  have  been  blindness 
in  what  she  withholds. 

Anne  Howe*  is  an  injudicious  example  of  a  woman  of  talents, 
favouring  without  much  claim,  inflicting  without  much  cause,  and 
diminishing  the  value  of  what  she  gives,  and  what  would  other- 

•  Ttiis  is  a  fictitious  name.     Tlie  sulject  of  thfs  pai't  "fthe  above  letter  was  en'irely 
9f  a  private  nature,  and  is  alluded  to  with  a  studied  obscurity. — C. 


ENGLISH    SOCrETT,  435 

wise  rise  above  all  price,  by  the  levity  of  an  unequal  tenor  that 
takes  away  from  ber  the  splendid  of  her  own  uniform  judgment 
in  her  own  justification ;  it  lets  down  the  giver,  and  abashes  the 
taker.  Our  friends  should  not  have  made  a  point  so  much  be- 
neath their  region  ;  let  them,  therefore,  re\aew  and  correct.  How 
ever,  it  sliould  be  ever  the  duty  of  gratitude,  not  to  let  even  the 
breaking  of  a  single  string  take  away  the  merit  of  the  residue  of 
the  octave,  if  that  had  given  out  all  the  luxury  of  harmony  and 
feeling  before  that  single  key  had  lost  its  voice — but,  perhaps  too 
much  of  this. 

"  Since  my  arrival  here  my  spirits  have  been  wretchedly  low  : 
though  treated  with  gi-eat  kindness,  I  find  nothing  to  my  mind.  1 
find  heads  without  thinking,  and  hearts  without  strings,  and  a 
phraseology  sailing  in  ballast — every  one  piping,  but  few  dancing. 
England  is  not  a  place  ■for  society;  it  is  too  cold,  too  vain,  with- 
out pride  enough  to  be  humble,  drowned  in  dull  fantastical  form- 
ality, vulgarized  by  rank  without  talent,  and  talent  foolishly 
recommending  itself  by  weight  rather  than  b}'  fashion — a  perpetual 
war  between  the  disappointed  pretension  of  talent  and  the  stupid 
over-weening  of  affected  patronage ;  means  without  enjoyment, 
pursuits  without  an  object,  and  society  without  conversation  or 
intercourse :  perhaps  they  manage  this  better  in  France — a  few 
days,  I  think,  will  enable  me  to  decide.  In  that  object  I  probably 
would  have  succeeded ;  I  should  have  been  strongly  supported, 
but  a  conflict  of  corruption !  surely  not  to  be  thought  of.  How 
would  it  mortify  the  discerning  pride  of  our  fiicnds  to  see  us 
decked  and  degraded  in  a  mantle ! 


''to' 


"  So  vilely  purchased  and  so  vilely  wrought  1" 

and  to  find  themselves  disguising  the  pangs  of  wounded  sympathy 
in  the  force  semblance  of  gratulation.  The  advice  of  Longinus, 
'consider  liow  Homer  would  have  expressed  this  idea,'  applies 
equally  to  everything.  How  would  the  adviser  have  advised  ? — 
how  feel  ?     Will  the  '  promise  so  true,'  '  for  ever  to  partake  the  joy 


436  LIFE   OF   CURRAN. 

and  the  wo,'  be  performed  in  sharing  the  joy  of  what  fs  right, 
or  in  the  sad  condolence  at  what  is  weak  or  wrono-  ?  If  \  ne  latter, 
what  would  it  be  but  the  risino-  of  the  whirlwind,  and  driftins:  a 
mountain  of  sand  upon  the  green  spot  that  could  never  again  ap- 
pear? While  fate  permits  that  spot  to  bloom,  sacred  should  it  be 
kept,  at  least  from  voluntary  weeds. 

"One  of  our  friends  asked  me  how  soon  I  meant  to  return.  In- 
stead of  answering  directly,  I  observed  that  the  question  implied 
no  particular  wish,  or,  if  any,  rather  for  a  retai'ded  than  a  precipi- 
tated return.  If  any  wish  had  been  intimated,  it  would  have 
decided  me.  I  did  not  impute  the  indecision  to  any  want  of 
interest,  but  I  intended  to  have  discui?sed  it  at  large  the  day  after 
my  departure.  What  is  the  wish?  Perhaps,  on  such  a  subject, 
the  wisher  mio-ht  condescend  to  be  also  the  amanuensis.  I  shall 
remain  here,  I  think,  just  long  enough  to  fret  a  line — enclosed  to 
J.  Spencer,  Esq.  28  Bury  Street.  If  I  am  left  to  my  own  conjec- 
tures, my  stay  in  France  might  be  for  the  winter ;  it  might  lead 
to  an  oxursion  to  Italy,  in  vaiiily  pursuing 'phantoms  that  pro- 
mise and  afterwards  disown.'  A  proposal  towards  such  a  plan  has 
been  mentioned  to  me,  and  by  a  pleasant  man,  who  has  been  there 
already. 

"  Don't  mistake  me,  in  supposing  that  I  meant  anything  peevish 
in  the  indecision  of  wish  by  our  friends ;  quite  the  contrary.  T 
really  think  it  very  difficult  to  know  what  wish  to  form,  while  all 
things  are  in  such  a  state  of  vacillaLion.  The  post  is  just  ringing. 
Farewell ! 

J.  P   C." 


"  Paris,  August,  3, 1814. 

«Dear  L. 

"  I  received  yom-  kind  letter,  and  thank  you  for  it ;  '  levius  Jit,'' 
&G.  When  I  came  here,  I  intended  to  have  scribbled  some  little 
journal  of  what  I  met.  I  am  now  sQi'ry  I  did  not.  Things  so  soon 
become  familiar,  and  appear  not  worth  notice  :  besides,  I  have  not 


LETTER  FKOM  PARIS,  i^? 

been  well  since  I  came  here.  If  I  Iiad  written,  and  sent  U  to  vou, 
it  would  have  been  a  tissue  of  astonishment,  or  tiflPictioii,  or  disgust. 
I  see  clearly  I  am  likely  to  be  drummed  out  of  this  sad  world.  1 
fear  war  will  soon  unfold  her  tattered  banners  on  the  continent. 
I'his  poor  country  is  in  a  deplorable  state — a  ruined  noblesse,  a 
famished  clergy,  a  depopulated  nation,  a  state  of  smothered  war 
between  the  npstarts  and  the  restored ;  their  iinances  most  dis- 
tressed ;  the  militaiy  spirits  divided ;  .the  most  opposite  opinions 
as  to  the  lasting  of  the  present  form  of  things — every  thing  un- 
hinged :  yet  I  really  sympathised  with  this  worried,  amiable,  and 
perhaps  contemptible  people ;  so  full  of  talent  and  of  vice,  so  fri- 
volous, so  inconstant  and  prone  to  change,  so  ferocious  too  in  their 
fickleness ;  about  six  revolutions  within  twenty  years,  and  as  fresh 
as  ever  for  a  new  dance.  These  strange  vicissitudes  of  man  draw 
tears,  bnt  they  also  teach  wisdom.  These  awful  reverses  make 
one  ashamed  of  being  engrossed  by  mere  self,  and  examining  a 
louse  through  a  miscroscope,  'complain  of  grief,  complain  thou  art 


a  man.' 


"  I  never  so  completely  found  my  mind  a  magic-lantern ;  such  a 
rapid  succession  of  disjointed  images !  the  i>ast,  tlie  present,  the 
future  possible.  One  ought  not  to  be  hasty  in  taking  of  bad  impres- 
sions, and  I  need  not  say  that  three  weeks  can  give  but  little  room 
for  exact  observation ;  but  from  what  I  do  see,  and  learn  from 
others  who  have  seen  long  and  deeply,  I  have  conceived  the  worst 
of  social  Paris.  Eveiy  thing  on  the  surface  is  abominable ;  beast 
linesses  that  even  with  us  do  not  exist;  they  actually  seem  in  talk 
and  in  practice  to  cultivate  a  familiarity  with  nastiness.  In  ever\ 
public  place,  they  are  spitting  on  your  shoes,  in  your  plate,  almost 
in  your  moutli.  Such  community  of  secretions,  with,  I  think, 
scarcely  any  exception,  is  not  to  be  borne.  Then  the  contrast 
makes  it  worse — gaudiness  more  striking  by  filth:  the  splendid 
palace  for  the  ruler,  the  hovels  and  the  sink  for  the  ruled ;  the  fine 
box  for  the  despot,  the  pigeon-holes  for  the  people  ;  and  it  strikes 
me  with  sadness,  that  ths  women  can  be  little  more  than  the  figur- 


ISS  LIFE   OF   CTiREAJN'. 

antes,  mucL  more  tlie  j^roperty,  and  that  a  very  abused  property, 
tliau  tlie  proprietors;  receiving  a  mock  reverence,  merely  to  carry 
on  the  drama,  but  neither  cherished  nor  respected.  What  a  re- 
flection, if,  as  I  fear,  it  is  true  that  the  better  half  of  the  species, 
(for  such  I  really  think  them,  when  fitly  placed)  should  be  so 
sacrificed!  IIow  vile  the  feeling  and  the  taste,  that  can  degrade 
them  from  being  the  real  directors  and  mistresses  of  man,  to  be 
the  mere  soubrettes  of  societj^,  gilded  and  smart,  and  dextrous  and 
vicious,  giving  up  all  that  exalts  and  endears  them  in  their  proper 
characters  of  wives  and  friends,  and  partners  in  good,  and  conso- 
lers in  adverse  fortunes  !  Even  before  the  revolution,  manners 
were  bad  enough,  but  many  causes  since  have  rubbed  off  the  gild- 
ing ;  the  banishment  of  the  nobles,  the  succession  of  low  men  to 
power,  and  more  than  all  the  elevation  of  plebeian  soldiers  to  high 
rank,  promoting  of  course  their  trulls  to  a  station  where  mannere 
and  morals  were  under  their  influence;  and  this  added  to  the  horri- 
ble example  set  by  Bonaparte  himself  in  his  own  interior,  putting 
every  thing  honest  or  sacred  out  of  countenance  and  out  of  fashion. 
Add  to  this,  wliat  must  have  sent  down  the  contagion  to  the  lower 
orders — the  conscription :  the  wretched  men  marrying  without 
preference  mei'ely  to  avoid  the  army,  and  then  running  into  that 
army  to  escape  from  their  ill-chosen  partners  ;  all  these  causes 
must  have  conspired  to  make  a  frightful  carnage  in  manners  and 
morals  too.  In  short,  I  am  pereuaded  that  a  single  monster  has 
done  more  to  demoralize  and  uncivilize  this  country  than  a  cen- 
:ury  can  repair.  I  am  disposed  to  attribute  to  the  same  causes 
the  oTowino-  fanaticism  of  Eno-land.  In  Ireland  we  had  little  to 
bse  in  civilization;  but  look  at  our  late  extravagances,  and  see  at 
least  how  much  we  have  lost  in  our  own  and  in  the  opinion  of 
others.  For  years  to  come,  I  see  no  hope ;  we  have  the  anguish 
of  being  ourselves  the  cause  of  not  going  forward  a  little  in  the 
march  of  the  world,  but  of  still  remaining  a  l)y-word  among 
nations.  Patriotic  affectation  is  almost  as  bad  as  personal,  but  I 
declare  I  think  these  things  do  a  good  deal  in  sinking  my  health, 


FRENCH    SOCIETY.  43D 

wliich  is  far  from  gocxl ;  iny  spirits  quite  on  the  ground ;  and  yet 
as  to  Ireland,  I  never  saw  but  one  alternative — a  bridewell  ov  a 
guard-liouse ;  with  England  the  first,  with  France  the  other.  We 
might  have  had  a  mollification,  and  the  bolts  lightened,  and  a 
chance  of  progression ;  but  that  I  now  give  up. 

"  I  really  wish  the  tiling  with  myself  over ;  and  trust  me  that 
wish  is  not  irreligious  or  peevish,  but  rather  a  good  humoured 
feeling,  that,  not  wishing  to  eat  more,  I  may  be  better  by  rising 
from  table ;  '  enough  is  as  o-ood  as  a  feast.' 

"  I  am  every  hour  more  and  more  confirmed  as  to  my  ideas  of 
society;  it  is  not  for  those  that  think  or  feel ;  it  is  not  one  fool  get- 
ting on  the  back  of  many,  to  fly  from  liimself.  In  France  you  can 
scarcer"  make  even  that  experiment,  for  all  here  agree  that  at 
the  present  moment  all  society  is  dead.  Nor  is  it  wonderful,  that, 
when  all  the  actors  on  the  great  scene  are  changed,  the  parts 
should  be  badly  performed ;  but  still  I  have  found  society,  as  it  is 
called,  and  met  a  great  deal  of  kindness,  and  some  persons  of 
talent ;  but  even  there  I  found  society  an  orchestra,  where  the 
fiddlei's  were  putting  one  another  out,  or  rather  where  one  played 
a  solo,  and  every  other  bow  was  soaped. 

"At  this  moment  my  friend  enters;  he  differs  totally  from  my 
opinion,  saying,  'I  have  lived  single  in  a  great  city;  few  friends, 
many  acquaintances;  I  think  I  have  done  I'ight  and  shall  continue. 
Sameness  would  cloy.  IIow  many  happy  matches  have  you 
seen?  IIow  many  fixithful  friendships?  Too  much  intimacy  lays 
you  bare ;  your  little  infirmities  diminish"  respect,  perhaps  excite 
disgust,  perliaps  end  in  hatred.  With  the  same  pei'sons  and  those 
few,  what  chance  of  having  yourself,  or  finding  in  them,  the  attach- 
ment, the  good  tenqier,  and  good  sense  necessary  foi'  l)earing  and 
forbearing?  You  have  complained  of  being  spit  upon — but  you 
can  easily  curse  tlienv,  make  a  polite  bow,  ami  gi>  away;  1ml  that 
would  be  no  cause  for  breaking  a  closer  attachment.  Are  you 
not  conscious,  that  you  have  observed,  since  we  have  been  so 
mu;h  together  some  faults  in  me  not  observed  before  ?    Have  yo» 


440  LIFE   OF  CfKUAjr. 

no  suspicion  of  reprisal?'  All  this  I  treated  as  misantlaropie 
cant — he  retorted  on  me,  '  What  is  your  select  attachment  but 
general  intolerance  ?  What  is  the  syrup  of  concentrated  affection 
but  extract  from  the  wormwood  of  embittered  irritability  ?  Wlien 
has  any  man  ever  found  the  male  or  the  female  inmate  always 
equal,  p^.tient,  and  amiable?  or  even  suppose  it,  will  not  sickness 
or  death  rend  the  bond,  and  leave  you  or  them  in  a  desert  ?  As 
to  me,  I  can  bear  almost  every  body ;  the  grave-digger,  I  laugh 
at.  I  cannot  weep  over  myself  when  I'm  gone,  and  I  will  not 
over  any  body  else.'  He  pressed  me  to  say  if  I  seriously  thought 
there  was  nothing  in  these  topics.  I  told  him  I  had  frequently 
been  presented  with  them  before,  but  was  not  exactly  in  a  frame  for 
an  ulter'ms  concilium.  In  truth,  it  was  rather  memory  awakened, 
than  opinion  shaken,  that  made  me  disposed  to  silence ;  but  of 
this  enough  for  the  present. 

"  I  found  myself  all  abaft.  We  agreed  to  go  to  la  chamhre  des 
Deputes.  One  of  the  members  chanced  to  have  heard  of  my 
name,  was  extremely  courteous,  lamented  that  I  should  be  a  mere 
auditor,  but  he  would  take  care  that  I  should  be  placed  according 
to  my  higli  worthiness.  We  were  accordingly  placed  aux  2^re- 
mieres  tribunes:  the  question  was  to  be  of  the  liberty  of  the  press, 
and  of  a  previous  censorship.  The  Baron  had  some  difficulty  in 
working  us  forward,  and  said  how  happy  he  was  in  succeeding. 
I  assured  him  I  was  greatly  delighted  by  the  diffic^ilty,  as  it 
marked  the  just  point  of  solicitude  of  the  public.  The  cham.ber 
is  very  handsome ;  the  president  faces  the  assembly ;  before  him 
is  a  tribune,  which  the  orator  ascends,  and  reads  his  speech  with 
his  back  to  the  president — we  waited  anxiously.  I  thought  I 
shared  in  the  throb  of  a  public  heart.  We  observed  some  bustle ; 
the  seats  of  the  interior,  reserved  for  the  members,  became  crowded 
to  excess  by  ladies  admitted  I  know  not  how.  The  order  for 
strangers  to  retire  was  read ;  the  ladies  would  not  stir.  The 
president  could  find  no  remedy,  and  adjourned  the  house  to  next 
day.    I  was  rather  disgusted  :  the  Baron  asked  me  what  we  would 


FKENCS    CHAMBER   OF   DEPUTIES.  441 

have  clone  iu  England?  I  said  we  had  too  niucli  respect  for  oui 
ladies  to  permit  them  to  remain ;  he  shook  his  head :  I  did  not 
understand  what  he  meant.  But  does  not  this  prove,  what  I  said 
a  day  or  two  agy  (for  this  is  written  by  starts)  to  be  true,  '  that 
women  here  have  only  a  mock  respect  V  if  real,  would  they  have 
dreamed  of  such  a  silly  termagancy?  Does  it  not  mark  their 
unfeeling  coxcombry  and  apathy  in  the  public  interest,  and  how 
fit  they  are  to  be  the  n  others  of  the  Gracchi  ?  And  yet  women 
here  are  vain  of  their  sway.  I  can  imagine  nothing  more  humiliat- 
ing than  such  Saturnalian  licentiousness. 

"  However,  I  went  next  day.  There  was  a  previous  list  of  the 
orators,  pro  and  con  :  they  mounted  alternately,  and  read  written 
speeches.  The  echo  was  strong ;  I  lost  much.  But  how  can  any 
man  read  his  own  speech  ?  He  may  the  speech  of  the  dead  or 
the  absent;  it  is  any  thing  but  discussion.  The  orator  swabs  his 
face,  notwithstanding  the  sedateness  of  the  exertion ;  and  Avhen 
he  stops  to  drink,  which  is  a  part  of  the  performance,  the  whole 
assembly  handle  their  'kerchiefs,  and  trumpet  in  the  most  perfect 
time  and  unison,  to  the  great  animation  and  interest  of  the  speech, 
and  no  doubt  to  the  wreat  comfort  of  the  auditors,  who  must  have 
had  their  secretions  brimful  during  their  attention.  The  question 
will  not  be  decided  probably  in  many  days.  The  press  is  surely 
the  great  sentinel — it  gives  the  light  to  see  and  the  tongue  to 
speak.  They  say  the  Russians  always  eat  the  candles  before  they 
swallow  tlie  people.  I  can't  tell  you  how  interested  I  am ;  I  begin 
to  doubt  if  man  ought  to  be  monopolized  or  his  taper,  however 
dim  it  may  be,  put  under  the  bushel  of  mere  private  confined 
affection.  Some,  it  seems,  are  afraid  of  the  sudden  mischiefs  that 
might  arise  among  a  volatile  peoj)le,  if  i-estraint  wore  removed 
too  soon ;  I  own  it  never  was  my  notion.  But  I  know  not  how 
far  these  fears  may  be  real  or  feigned.  Such  is  the  fate  of  revo- 
lutions— nothing  certain  but  blood.  'Jhe  march  of  the  captives 
begins  through  a  Red  Sea ;  and,  after  foily  years  in  seeking  new 
abodes  and  strange,  gods,  the  leader  seldom  sees  the  promised 


4:42  LIFE   OF   CUEEAiT. 

land,  or,  at  least,  dies  before  his  foot  has  touched  it.  What  is  it, 
here  at  least,  hut  the  succession  of  wretches  doing-  Llie  duty  of  the 
liangnian,  till  it  is  the  turn  of  each  to  be  the  victim?  These 
thoughts  often  console  nie.  My  dear  friend,  we  must  stay  as  we 
are ;  l)Ut  let  us  look  at  the  history  of  past  and  the  acts  of  present 
men,  and  leai'n  to  be  patient  and  modest. 

"  You  can't  forget  my  hatred  of  Bonaparte  ;  everything  I  hear 
confirms  it.  When  I  went  up  to  see  his  famous  column  at  Bou- 
logne, the  poor  muse,  I  thought  was  left  behind,  whispered  at  the 
moment, 

'  When  ambition  achieves  her  desire, 
How  fortune  must  hiugh  at  the  joke  ! 
You  mounted  a  pillar  of  lire, 
You  sink  in  a  pillar  of  smoke.' 

"  I  am  greatly  pleased  to  have  this  man's  extinction  marked  by 
so  much  abject  degi'adation.  These  butchers  and  I'obbers,  called 
coiiquerers,  have  kept  their  vices  up  by  the  splendour  of  their  rise 
or  fall ;  but  what  a  tall  has  this  man  had  !  He  retires  instead  of 
I'alling  like  a  brave  highwayman,  or  as  a  Cataline  did  :  he  dwindles 
into  an  isl-icle,  and  plays  the  pitiful  tricks  of  power  among  fisher- 
men and  washerwomen.  After  losing  the  game  of  the  world,  he 
sits  down,  like  a  child,  to  make  castles  with  cards.  Even  his  mili- 
tary talents  are  questioned.  They  say,  that  having  no  respect  for 
property  or  person,  he  extorted  such  sums  of  money,  and  thousands 
of  men,  as  made  resistance  physically  impossible,  even  notwithstand- 
ino;  an  infinite  ninnber  of  mistakes  of  head  and  violence  of  tem- 
per — but  here  you  know  I  am  speaking  without  book.  Still  he 
had  laid  hold  of  the  gaudiness  of  many,  and  is  talked  of  with 
regret;  but  his  i-ising  again  is,  I  trust  in  God,  impossible.  I  do 
believe  the  pi-esent  rulers  mean  very  well,  though  the  King  has  none 
of  the  vices  that  might  reconiinend  him  here.  I  believe  he  is 
well  taught  in  the  school  of  adversity,  and  has. a  respect  for  what- 
ever is  good  and  honest.     Whatever  lie  be  bigoted,  I  don't  know. 


FUENCU    rOLITESSE.  443 

An  attempt  was  made  to  shut  tbe  sliops  on  Sunday,  and  to  carry 
the  host  in  procession,  but  boih  failed;  they  were,  however,  desisted 
from  with  great  temper. 

'•  I  now  regret  that  I  did  not  throw  upon  paper  the  tilings  that 
occurred  every  day;  I  have  often  regretted  the  omission.  1  would 
advise  you  to  keep  a  journal  of  that  kind ;  it  will  cost  very  little 
trouble,  and  will  have  the  freslmess  of  being  ready  gathered,  not 
faded  by  forgetfulness  and  cold  and  laboured  recollection.  Even 
■while  I  have  been  scribbling  this,  many  incidents  that  glowed  with 
life  at  the  moment,  have  so  lost  their  life,  that  though  I  rolled  them 
they  threw  up  nothing  but  water,  and  would  be  rotten  befoi'e  they 
could  reach  you,  so  I  ceased  all  attempts  to  revive  them.  I  had 
twenty  things,  the  first  few  days  to  say  of  my  host,  and  his  wife, 
and  his  daughter.  It  seems  they  fled  to  Lubec  at  th  j  first  horrors 
of  the  revolution,  and  the  children  were  born  there;  the  girl,  I 
thought,  seemed  to  have  a  good  opinion  of  me,  and  I  thought  her 
good  taste  ought  to  make  amends  for  her  want  of  beauty;  and  cer- 
tainly she  had  brought  a  very  scanty  viaticum  of  charms  from  the 
north.  About  the  end  of  the  first  week,  meaning  to  be  very  sweet, 
she  assured  me  I  had  the  best  English  accent  she  ever  heard,  and 
that  it  was  exactly  the  same  as  that  of  her  English  master.  During 
this  chat,  in  marches  tlie  teacher.  The  scoundrel  is  a  German, 
who  went  to  London  at  five  and  twenty,  and  returned,  after  four 
years,  to  teach  the  purity  of  their  language  in  Paris.  Poor  gii'l ! 
I  turned  her  regimentals  at  the  moment,  and  remanded  her  to 
her  ugliness.  However,  all  is  well,  for  slie  knows  nothing  of  the 
crime,  or  the  sentence,  or  the  })ardon.  'Jlie  father  and  mother  are 
very  good  sort  of  people,  and  have  saved  me  from  some  small  impo- 
sitions ;  for  really  nothing  can  be  so  shameless  and  abject  as  the 
frauds  upon  strangers.  Even  at  the  cofiee-house  where  I  bi'eak- 
fast,  tlie  keeper  of  it,  a  very  genteel  woman,  makes  me  almost 
everyday  pay  a  ditfei'ent  price  for  the  same  thing.  It  is  siill  onlv 
fair  to  say,  the  French  are  the  civilest  people  upon  earth,  and  I 
really  believe  sincei'ely  good  natured   to  strangers.     Two  nights 


444  LIFE   OF   CUEKAN. 

ago  I  was  overtaken  by  the  national  guard :  I  asked  the  ofBcer  my 
way  ;  he  answered  so  courteously,  that  I  ventured  a  question  or 
two  ]uore ;  he  continued  the  same  good  nature,  and  the  private 
next  behind  him  assisted  in  doing  the  duties  of  hospitality.  I  said 
I  was  afi'aid  he  had  led  me  to  pass  the  line  of  respect  to  liirn,  but 
his  answer  was,  and  in  the  kindest  tone,  'Sir,  a  stranger  comnw  d 
faut  can  never  pass  it  in  France.'  I  doubt  if  I  should  have  found 
it  so  in  England.  Apropos !  I  am  quite  sure  the  two  nations  hate 
each  other  as  devoutly  as  ever ;  and  I  think  their  respective  imper- 
fections of  character  will  be  kept  alive  by  the  mutual  spirit  of 
contempt.  Paris  will  think  it  graceful  to  be  volatile,  as  long  as 
London  thinks  it  dignified  to  be  dull." 


TO    THE    SAME. 

"  Paris. 

"My  Dear  Lube. 

"I  write  again,  because  I  judge  from  myself,  and  how  kindly 
I  felt  your  last,  that  you  would  like  to  hear  from  me ;  perhaps  the 
not  being  able  to  abstain  from  writing  to  the  absent  is  the  only 
certain  proof  that  distance  and  memory  are  compatible :  however, 
the  compliment  is  not  great,  when  you  know  that  I  have  flung  my- 
self upon  you  as  a  correspondent  only  at  those  intervals  when  I 
could  not  bear  my  own  company.  The  thermometer  has  been 
higher  here  lately  than  at  any  former  time.  Close,  dirty  streets, 
stewing  play-houses,  and  a  burning  sun,  have,  perhaps  naturally 
enough,  completed  the  extreme  depression  of  my  spirits,  and  made 
me  fit  for  nothing.  I  endeavour  to  dissipate,  by  wasting  myself  upon 
spectacle — but  it  wo  'nt  do ;  this  day  I  thought  to  look  for  some- 
thing gay  in  the  catacombs.  It  seems  all  Paris  stands  upon  a 
vaulted  quarry,  out  of  which  the  stone  to  build  it  has  been  taken, 
and  it  is  not  very  rare  to  see  an  entire  house  sink  down  to  its 
original  liome,  and  disappear.  Part  of  the  excavation  has  been 
fitted  up  as  a  residenc3  in  remainder  for  a  grave.     We  went  down, 


THE   CATACOMBS.  445 

I  tlilnk,  seventy  steps,  and  traversed  more  than  half  a  mile  by 
torch,  or  ratlier  taper  light,  and  we  beheld  more  than  2,300,000 
fragments  of  what  once  was  life.  I'hey  amount  to  four  times  the 
present  population  of  Paris.  The  bones  were  very  carefully  built 
up,  and  at  intervals  were  studded  with  projecting  rows  of  skulls, 
with  mottos  occasionally  written  up  in  Latiu  or  French.  It  was 
sort  of  caravan,  mostly  women  :  one  of  them  asked  me  to  translate 
one  of  those  ;  it  was,  I  think,  '  in  nihilum  revertitur  quod  ex  nihilo 
fuit.'  I  asked  whether  it  gave  her  a  sentiment  of  grief,  or  fear,  or 
hope  ?  She  asked  me  what  room  I  could  see  for  hope  in  a  parcel 
of  empty  skulls?  'For  that  reason,  madam,  and  because  you 
know  they  cannot  be  filled  with  grief  or  fear,  fur  all  subjects  of 
either  is  past.'  She  replied, '  oui,  et  cependant  c'est  jolie.'  I  could 
not  guess  to  what  she  applied  the  epithet,  so  I  raised  the  taper  to 
her  face,  which  I  had  not  looked  at  before,  and  had  it  been  any 
thing  but  the  mirror  of  death,  I  should  have  thought  she  had  looked 
into  it,  and  applied  the  one  reflection  to  the  other,  so  perfectly 
unimpressed  was  her  countenance.  It  did  not  raise  her  in  my  mind, 
though  she  was  not  ill-looking ;  and  when  I  met  her  above  ground, 
after  our  resurrection,  she  appeared  fit  enough  for  the  drawing- 
rooms  of  the  world,  though  not  for  the  under-cellar.  1  do  not 
remember  ever  to  have  had  my  mind  compi-essed  into  so  narrow  a 
space  :  so  many  human  beings,  so  many  actoi-s,  so  many  sufferers, 
so  various  in  liuinan  rank,  so  equaHzed  in  the  grave !  When  I 
stared  at  the  congregation,  I  could  not  distinguish  what  head  liad. 
raved,  or  reasoned,  or  hoped,  or  burned.  1  looked  for  thought,  I 
looked  for  dimples;  I  asked,  whither  is  all  gone — did  wisdom 
never  flow  from  your  lips,  nor  affection  hang  upon  them — and  if 
both  or  either,  which  was  the  most  exalting — which  the  most 
fascinating?  All  silent.  They  left  me  to  answer  for  them,  'So 
sliall  the  fairest  face  appear.' 

"  I  was  full  of  the  subject.  In  the  evening  I  went  to  distract  at 
the  comedy  of  le  Misanthrope,  the  best  of  Moliere.  The  severe 
affection  of  Alceste,  and  the  heartless  coquetry  of  Celimene,  were' 


i46  LIFE   OF   CUEKAN. 

excellently  done.  It  is  not  only  tragedy  tb'at  weeps — Golgotlia 
was  still  an  incubv.3  upon  me.  I  saw  the  moral  of  the  piece  went 
far  beyond  the  stage — it  only  began  there.  Every  good  play 
ought  to  be  just  in  the  particular  fable.  It  ouglit  also  (to  be  use- 
ful) to  have  a  general  analogy  far  more  extensive  and  equally 
exact.  Alceste  is  a  man  in  the  abstract — Celimene  is  the  object 
of  his  wish,  whatever  that  may  be  ;  she  smiles,  and  caresses,  and 
promises,  lie  thinks  he  feels  the  blood  in  her  heart,  for  he  mis- 
takes tlie  pulse  of  his  own  for  that  of  hers ;  he  embraces  the 
phantom,  or  thinks  he  does  so,  but  is  betrayed,  and  opens  his  eyes 
upon  the  desert:  at  the  moment  he  does  not  recollect  that  the 
loss  to  him  is  little ;  'tis  only  the  loss  of  himself^to  her  it  is 
nothing,  for  it  is  made  up  in  the  next  conscription ;  and,  at  all 
events,  whether  sick  or  wounded,  the  march  of  man's  warfare  is 
never  suspended  ;  the  moving  infirmary  never  halts,  and  every  day 
brings  him  a  stage  nearer  a  la  harriere  d'enfer,  the  entrance  of 
the  catacombs. 

"  This  sad  subject  naturally  turns  me  to  another,  that  makes  me 
suspect  that  my  contempt  of  this  world  is  not  quite  sincere.  I 
mean  the  poor  extravasated  Irish  that  I  meet  here ;  I  meet  their 
ghosts  as  I  pass,  and  new  them  as  Eneas  did, 

'  Quos  abstulit  atra  dies  et  funore  miscet  acerbo.' 

How  can  I  affect  to  despise  a  scene  where  my  heart  bleeds  for 
every  sufferer  ?  I  wish  to  disperse  my  feelings  as  a  citizen  of 
the  world,  and  break  my  own  monopoly  of  them,  but  they  all 
come  back  to  our  unhappy  country.  One  of  the  most  beautiful 
touches  of  the  prince  of  sensitive  poets  is  where  he  tinges  the 
wanderings  of  Dido  with  patriotism, 

'Sajpe  longum  incomitata  videtur 


Ire  viam  et  Tyrios  deserta  quiv.rere  terra.' 

By  the  by,  it  does  some  credit  to  the  character  of  humanity  that  we 
sometimes  ex  change  the  suffering  of  egotism  for  a  nobler  sympathy, 


PARISIAN   THEATRICALS.  447 

and  lament  over  others  instead  of  keeping  all  our  tears  for  our- 
selves. What  exquisite  nectar  must  they  be  to  those  over  whom  they 
are  shed  !  Nor  pei-haps  should  the  assurance  that  they  do  n't  suf- 
fer alone  be  always  witheld,  because  it  may  not  be  always  true; 
because  for  the  pur|)Ose  of  consolation,  it  is  enough  if  it  be  believed, 
whether  true  or  not :  if  the  payment  is  complete,  is  it  worth 
while  to  inquire  whether  the  coin  be  counterfeit  or  not  ?  r3ut  with 
respect  to  our  poor  exiles  the  sympathy  is  most  sincere  as  well  as 
ardent :  I  had  hopes  that  England  might  let  them  back.  The  sea- 
son and  the  power  of  mischief  is  long  past;  the  number  is  almost 
too  small  to  do  credit  to  ihe  mercy  that  casts  a  look  upon  them. 
"But  they  are  destined  to  give  their  last  recollection  of  tlie  green 
fields  they  ai'e  never  to  behold,  on  a  foreign  death-bed,  and  to  lose 
the  sad  delight  of  fancied  visits  to  them  in  a  distant  grave. 

"I  continue  to  feel  an  increasing  dislike  of  every  thing  here;  I 
probably  sha'  n't  remain  long.  I  have  left  some  things  in  Ireland 
unsettled  that  I  must  arrange,  however  I  may  dispose  of  myself 
hereafter.  England  can  't  arrest  me  long  ;  I  have  never  fnund  any 
good  in  watering-places.  My  malady,  a  constitutional  dejection, 
can  hope  for  no  remedy  in  water  or  in  wine.  In  general,  the  bene- 
fit of  those  places  is  attributed  to  the  attendant  temperance,  but  a 
person  little  given  to  excess  any  where  has  not  much  to  add  in  that 
way;  and  as  to  evening  parties,  in  a  crowd  of  strangers,  I  never 
liked  them,  nor  was  fit  for  them  :  1  have  therefore  gi\en  my  even- 
ings to  the  theatres— I  prefer  them  to  English,  notwithstanding  the 
difticulty  of  a  foreign  language.  I  prefer  the  style  of  their  stage 
to  ours:  ours  always  ajipeared  to  me  ilat  and  dull,  with  never 
more  than  one  or  two  of  tolerable  merit  ;  on  the  contrary,  liere 
you  never  find  any  very  bad.  A  comic  nation  is  perpetually  send- 
ing young  aspirants  to  I'aris,  where  of  course  there  can  be  no 
5<.'arth.  In  England  you  must  put  up  with  what  you  can  got.  No 
doubt,  it  is  hard  to  find  any  exact  principles  of  acting;  'tis  in  a 
great  degree  arbitrary  and  accidental — still  nature  will  assert  cer- 
tain boundaries.     In  France  there  may  be  bombast,  and  tinsel,  aj'd 


448  LIFE   OF   CURRAN. 

the  eternal  monotony  of  amour  in  tlieir  plays  is  liable  to  objec- 
tions, lying  much  deeper  than  the  mere  criticism  of  the  stage;  it 
goes  vitally  to  the  morals  and  manners  of  the  people — it  goes  to 
mate  the  woman  a  bad  sort  of  man,  and  the  man  a  bad  sort  of 
woman  ;  it  goes  to  take  away  the  solid  basis  of  evejy  virtue  of  either 
sex  :  it  leaves  the  man  little  to  wish,  to  the  woman  little  to  bestow ; 
it  annihilates  the  fine  spirit  of  attachment.  What  can  he  feel  for 
confidence  given  on  a  principle  of  good  breeding  ?  To  fascinate, 
there  must  be  no  doubt  of  its  being  exclusive.  When  I  am  writing 
my  bad  verses,  I  would  spurn  the  muse,  if  I  suspected  her  of  whis- 
pering the  same  idea  to  twenty  other  poetasters.  On  the  same 
principle,  if  you  have  only  the  sixty-fourth  part  of  a  ticket  in  the 
lottery  of  regard,  the  prize  is  in  fact  a  blank.  How  can  you  join 
in  triumph  with  sixty-three  other  fortunate  adventurers?  Still 
these  exhibitions  amuse ;  the  acting  is  flippant  and  graceful,  and 
the  music  sometimes  excellent.  The  English,  who  have  no 
national  music,  aflfect  to  despise  French.  It  is  sometimes,  perhaps, 
tinselish ;  but  I  own  it  frequently  catches  my  fancy,  and  even  my 
heart. 

"I  am  not  sorry  for  having  come  hither  when  I  did — perhaps 
you  see  society  better  \\lien  cut  into  piece-meal,  as  in  anatomj^ 
every  thing  is  laid  l)ai'e  to  the  student — perhaps  it  is  seen  to  great 
disadvantage.  Tlie  best  lesson  that  man  can  learn  is  toleration, 
and  travelling  ouo-ht  to  be  the  best  school.  There  are  many  points 
in  wliicli  this  jieople  must  be  allowed  praise — lively,  cheerful — a 
constitutioniil  jihilosophy,  disposing  them  to  be  always  satisfied. 
I  'ivish,  as  to  government,  they  could  be  brought  to  an  anchor; 
whether  tliat  is  to  happen,  who  can  tell?  Nothing  can  be  more 
divided  than  the  o-eneral  sentiment:  the  higher  military  men  have 
got  safe  into  harbour,  and  wish  perhaps  for  quiet;  all  under  them 
most  discontented ;  long  arrears  due.  They  can't  employ  them 
abroad,  for  want  of  money ;  and  when  the  devil  is  raised,  and 
can't  be  kept  in  work — we  know  the  story.     The  favour  to  Bona- 


EETUKN  -TO    ENGLAND.  449 

parte  is  tlie  more  singular,  because,  allowing  for  his  extraordinary 
energy,  I  doubt  if  he  had  a  single  great  quality.  It  is  clear  he 
T^as  no  statesman;  force  alone  was  sufficient  for  all  he  did.  Men 
here  of  the  best  authority  jironounce  him  a  man  of  uncommon 
energy  in  action,  but  of  no  talent  for  retreat.  The  question  is  of 
more  curiosity  than  moment.  If  otherwise,  it  might  not  be  easy 
to  ki  ow  what  credit  to  give  to  these  criticisms. 

"  2 2d.  At  last  we  have  got  our  passports,  and  ordered  a  car- 
riage for  to-morrow.  We  shall  go  by  Dieppe.  Neither  my  fel- 
low-traveller nor  myself  in  the  best  health  or  spirits :  I  have  a 
great  kindness  for  him,  though  no  human  beings  can  be  more 
different.  I  do  n't  think  diversity  is  incompatible  with  friendship 
or  aftection-;  but  strong  contrariety,  I  fear,  is.  How  diiferent  are 
they  from  the  volatility  of  France,  as  well  as  from  the  loud,  ardent, 
indiscreet  vehemence  of  our  .poor  people.  Certainly  it  is  not  mere 
interest  that  foi-ms  the  weight  to  the  clock,  through  the  utter  want 
of  any  reguUiting  power  makes  it  a  sad  time-piece.  But  I  con- 
sider it  now  as  nearly  a  '  conclamatum  est,''  and  the  insurrection 
act  little  other  than  a  monumental  insci-iption. 

"  London.  Tuesday.  (A  new  venue.)  After  a  day  spent  at 
Dieppe,  we  sailed  :  and,  after  forty  hours,  lamled  at  Brighton.  I 
don't  like  the  state  of  my  health  ;  il'  it  was  merely  maladit  under 
sailing  ordei's  for  the  undiscovered  country,  I  should  not  quarrel 
with  the  passport.  There  is  nothing  gloomy  in  my  religious  im- 
pressions, though  I  ti'ust  they  are  not  shallow :  I  ought  to  have 
been  better — 1  know  also  that  others  have  been  as  blameable ; 
snd  have  rather  a  clieerful  reliance  upon  mercy  than  an  abject 
fear  of  justice.  Or  wei-e  it  otherwise,  I  have  a  much  greater  fear 
of  suiFerino;  than  of  death. 

"  I  had  almost  made  up  my  mind  to  bestow  a  citizen  to  France, 
and  I  am  mortified  at  finding  any  drag  upon  thf  intention-^— vet  a 
drag  ihere  is.  I  have  no  doubt  that  the  revolution  has  thrown 
that  country  a  century  back,  yet  she  has  qualities  that  might  have 
hoped  a  better  destiny.  It  has  been  suggested  to  me  that  a 
winter  it  Pa  is  might  answer  better. 


450  LIFE    OF   CtJEKAN. 

"I  just  now   return  from  a  long  conversation  with  the  tnilv 

royal  personage,*  who  saves  you  from  the  postage  of  this.     A  few 

days  nnist,  I  now  think,  take  me  across.     I  think  of  meetino-  sonio 

peJ'sons  at  Cheltenham.     As  to  waters,  I  suspect  they  are  seldom 

o.  use.     I  am  quite  decided  against  them,  till  Charon  pledges  mo 

on  the  Styx. 

"Yours,  very  truly, 

"  J.  P.  CURRAN." 

The  following  letter,  written  in  1815,  concludes  the  series  of 
his  private  correspondence : 

"  London. 
"  Dear  Lube, 

"  As  I  sit  down  to  write,  I  am  broken  in  upon.  In  sooth  I 
had  littki  to  say — the  mere  sending  this  is  full  proof  that  I  have 
escaped  being  supped  upon  by  Jonas's  landlord,  or  any  of  his  sub- 
jects. I  sailed  Wednesday  night,  and  arrived  here  at  half-past  six 
this  morning  sound  and  sad.  Kings  and  generals  as  cheap  as 
dirt,  and  yet  so  much  more  valuable  a  thing  as  a  lodging  as  dear 
as  two  eggs  a  penny.  Saturday  not  being  a  day  of  business  in  the 
House,  I  met  nobody ;  though  I  did  not  go  to  bed  on  my  arrival : 
the  little  I  have  heard  confirms  the  idea  you  know  T  entertained 
of  a  flatness  of  a  certain  political  project ;  it  could  not  pass  unop- 
posed, and  in  such  a  conflict,  the  expenditure  of  money  to  make  a 
voter  a  knave,  tliat  you  might  be  an  honest  senator,  would,  in 
such  a  swarm  of  locusts,  surpass  all  calculation.  However,  I 
know  nothing  distinctly  as  yet,  therefore  I  merely  persevere  in 
the  notion  I  stated  to  you. 

"  I  have  just  seen  the  immortal  Blucher.  The  gentlemen  and 
ladies  of  the  mob  huzza  him  out  of  his  den,  like  a  wild  beast  to 
his  ott'al ;  and  this  is  rej)eated  every  quaiier  of  an  hour,  to  their 
great  delight,  -ind  for  aught  a])peai-s,  not  at  all  to  his  dissatisfaction. 
I  am  now  o-oino-  to  dine  with  a  friend,  before  whose  house  the  illus- 

*  H.  p.  H.  the  Duke  of  Sussex.— 0. 


THE   END   APPROACHES.  451 

trioiis  monarclis  proceed  to  their  surfeit  at  Guildliall.  No  doubt 
we  shall  have  the  newspapers  in  a  state  of  eructation  for  at  least 
a  week.     But  I  must  close. 

"J.  r.  C." 


The  short  remainder  of  Mr.  Curran's  life  was  passed  j)rincipally 
between  Dublin  and  London.*  Notwithstanding  the  decline  of 
his  health  and  spirits,  the  vigour  of  his  mind  continued  unimpared, 
and  probably  added  to  his  indis])Osilion,  by  the  constant  impatience 
of  inactivity  in  which  it  kept  him.  He  occasionally  returned  to 
the  literary  projects  already  mentioned ;  but  to  speak  had  been  the 
business  of  his  life,  and  his  mind  could  not  now  submit  itself  to 
the  solitary  labours  of  the  closet.  He  still  continued  to  look  to- 
wards parliament,  rather,  perhaps,  to  gi\-e  himself  some  nominal 
object,  than  from  any  hope  or  desire  to  be  there.  While  in  London 
he  sometimes  attended  and  spoke  at  public  dinners.  Both  there 
and  in  L-eland  his  time  was  usually  spent  in  the  society  of  his  in- 
timate friends,  whom  his  powers,  as  a  companion,  delighted  to  the 
last. 

[Mr.  Phillips  may  again  bo  drawn  upon  here.     He  says : 

"He  also  frequently  \isited  both  London  and  Cheltenliam,  and 
it  was  my  good  fortune  generally  to  accompany  him.  On  one 
occasion,  howevei-,  having  preceded  him  to  town,  he  very  kindly 

*  Mr.  Ciin-an,  some  short  tiiiie  before  liis  deatli,  had  occasion  t<>  consult  a  iiliysician  in 
London  on  the  general  state  of  his  health.  He  accordin.irly  waite<l  on  a  gentleman  very 
eminent  in  that  profes.sion  ;  he  had  no  introduction  to  him,  and  was  perfectly  a  stranger. 
The  doctor  maile  many  enquiries  as  to  the  nature  of  liis  complaint,  and  of  liis  constitution, 
and  among  otlier  things  asked  him,  had  his  fatlier  ever  been  afllicted  by  gout.  Kven  then, 
the  humor  of  Mr.  Curran  did  not  desert  him:  he  perceived  tliat  the  doctor  did  not  see 
Into  the  nature  of  his  case,  and,  hoping  little  frnm  him,  he  answered  liy  assmiiig  Inin, 
"  that  his  father  had  left  him  neitlier  motieij  nor  waltuhj ;  that  tlie  only  inheritance  lie 
ever  got  from  him  was  a  large  stoclt  of  excellent  advice ;  and  that  so  careful  was  he  of  it, 
that  he  never  hr(il<e  bulli,  never  used  any  part  of  it,  and  that  it  was  very  likely  to  descend 
to  ixistcrity  in  the  very  same  condition  in  which  it  had  been  left:" — wished  the  doctor  a. 
Rood  morning,  and  left  him  more  jiugded  about  the  man  than  the  malady. — O'Rkqas- 


4:52  LIFE    OF   CUREAN. 

otlered  me  the  following  letter  of  introduction.  I  insert  it,  not 
merely  as  ray  credential  to  the  reader,  but  because  I  cherish  it  as 
a  precious  and  flattering  relic  of  a  friendship  which  was  the  honor 
and  hajjpiness  of  my  youth. 

"  '  nth  October,  1816. 

" '  My  Dear  Friend — You  know  how  squeamish  I  am  of  intro- 
luciiig.  I  do  not  make  any  attempt  of  that  kind,  for  the  bearer  is 
(.'harles  Phillips,  whom  you  well  know  already,  and  I  am  paying 
a  compliment  to  my  own  vanity  by  giving  him  this,  as  it  tells  two 
things  I  am  proud  of:  one,  that  I  know  him;  the  second,  that 
you  are  so  good  as  to  know 

'"John  P.  Curran.'" 

"  This  at  once  gave  me  a  passport  to  the  splenilid  hospitality  of 
Mr.  Perry,  the  able  proprietor  of  the  Morning  Chronicle,  whose 
sumptuous  boai'd  made  me  recollect  the  saying  of  'Mr.  Tierney 
%yhen  seated  at  it :  '1  see  now.  Perry,  how  much  better  it  is  to 
publish  speeches  than  to  make  tliemu . 

"  During  Mr.  Curran's  visits  to  London,-  he  occasionally,  but  not 
habitually,  mingled  in  the  political  and  literary  society  of  the  day. 
He  was  not  fond  of  crowded  rooms ;  his  taste  was  rather  a  select 
circle  of  perhaps  half  a  dozen,  and  those,  if  possible,  intimates. 
Among  the  most  remarkable  whom  he  encountered — there  is  no 
other  word  for  it — was  Madame  de  Stael.  Of  this  celebrated  lady 
he  gave  me  rather  an  extraordinary  idea.  After  he  had  once  or 
twic.e  met  her  in  society,  she  requested  an  interview  with  him  at 
her  residence  on  a  particular  day.  '  I  waited  on  her,'  said  he, 
'  as  bound  in  gallantry  so  to  do ;  and  on  being  shown  into  her 
drawing-room,  she  desired  that  no  one  else  should  be  admitted. 

'"  And  now,  Mr.  Curran,'  said  she,  'on  the  reply  you  make  to 
me,  I  apprise  you  our  future  intercourse  must  depend.'  This  was 
rather  startling,  but  you  may  imagine  my  amazement  when  she 
commenced  reciting  a  kind  of  indictment  against  my  character  ! 
Aj ,  with  due  emphasis  and  little  reservation,  believe  me.     There 


LOED  EES:SrNB.  453 

was  not  a  single  item  in  tlie  scandalous  account  whicL.  calumny 
liad  fabricated  against  me  with  wliich  she  was  not  perfectly 
familiar.  Every  misfortune  of  my  private  life,  and  every  aspersion 
on  my  public  conduct,  she  poured  forth  with  a  most  marvellous 
volubility.  Tlie  audacity  of  the  whole  procedure  almost  stunned 
me.  I  was  at  first  inclined  to  plead  to  the  jurisdiction  and  make 
my  bow,  but  then  I  remembered  she  had  a  tongue,  and  I  saw  how 
she  could  use  it,  so  I  entered  on  the  defence.'  He  then  I'ecapitu- 
lated,  seriatim,  the  charges  she  had  made  and  the  exculpations  he 
had  essayed.  How  any  person,  and  especially  a  female,  coulo 
have  oi'igiriated  such  a  discussion,  seems  inexplicable.  Her 
oration,  as  he  gave  it,  and  his  reply,  0(;cupied  fully  half  an  hour. 
The  alletrations  on  which  she  entered  were  coav.se  and  cruel  in  the 
extreme — the  sweejiings  of  the  Dublin  streets  for  thirty  years 
preceding,  furnished,  no  doubt,  by  some  of  the  party  scavengers. 
who  sedulously  collected  them.  However,  in  this  instance  it  was 
labor  lost,  as  the  lady  pronounced  a  verdict  of  acquittal. 

"  I  had  once  myself  an  opportunity  of  seeing  him  suddenly  put 
on  his  defence,  and  by  one  of  the  fair  sex  also.  We  were  walking 
together  in  a  public  thoroughfare,  when  a  lady,  confronting  and 
impeding  us,  thus  commenced:  'Mr.  Curi'an,  T  really  am  of  opin- 
ion that  you  might  be  better  employed  than  in  vilifying  me  and 
my  boarding-house.'  'Madam,'  said  Curran,  'I  know  well  that 
I  have  many  sins  to  answer  for,  but,  before  Heaven,  I  protest,  the 
having  wastes!  a  word  upon  yourself,  or  a  thought  upon  your 
boarding-house,  will  not  be  found  in  the  catalogue^'  and  he  bowed 
himself  away. 

"Willi  Lord  Eiskinc,  his  celebrated  rival  at  the  English  bar,  he 
was  in  habits  of  intimacy.  He  had  a  very  high  respect  for  his 
powers,  but,  aware  of  the  comparison  which  the  world  natui'ally 
instituted  between  Ihcni,  he  rather  avoided  the  topic  His  1<m.1- 
ship,  it  is  said,  once  provoked  a  sarcasm  from  Curran :  very 
unusual  indetNl,  for  his  wit  was  not  ill-natured..  It  was  a  few 
years  after  the  Irish  Union,  and  immediately  after  Mr.  Grattans 


454:  i.IFE   OF   CtJRRAN. 

debut  in  tlie  Imperial  Parliament.     The  oonv'ersation  after  dinner 
naturally  turned  on  the  very  splendid  display  of  tlie  Irish  orator. 
Lord  Erskine,  as  Curran  imagined,  exhibited  rather  an  uncalled- 
for  fastidiousness,  and  of  Mr.   Grattan's  fame  he  was  almost  as 
jealous  as  of  his   own.     The   conversation  proceeded.      '  Come 
come,'  said  his  lordship,  '  confess  at  once,  Curran,  was  not  Grat 
tan  a  little  intimidated  at  the  idea  of  a  iii'st  appearance  befoi'e  \\\« 
British   Pai-l lament  ?'      The    comparison    galled    Curran    to    the 
quick.     'Indeed,  my  lord,  I  do  not  think  he  was,  nor  do  I  think 
he  had  any  reason.     When  he  succeeded  so  splendidly  with  so 
eloquent  and  so   discriminating  a   body  as   the   Irish  House   of 
Commons,  he  need  not  have  apprehended  much  from  any  foreign 
criticism.'     '  Well,  but,  Curran,  did  he   not  confess  he  was  afraid, 
no  matter  what  might  be  the  groundlessness  of  his  apprehensions 
— did  you  not  hear  him  say  so?      Come,  come,'  continued  his 
lordship,  a  little  peiiinaciously.     'Indeed,  my  good  lord,  I  never 
did.     Mr.  Grattan  is  a  very  modest  man — he  never  sjjea/cs  for  him- 
self^  was  the  sarcastic  and  silencing  rejoinder.     It  is  well  known 
that  Cicero,  and  not  Grattan,  was  Lord  Erskine's  model  in  this 
particulai'. 

"Some  time  afterwards  they  met  at  the  table  of  an  illustrious 
personage.*  The  royal  host,  with  much  complimentary  delicacy, 
directed  the  conversation  to  the  pi'ofession  of  his  celebrated  visitors. 
Lord  Erskine  veiy  eloquently  took  the  lead.  lie  descanted  iu 
terms  which  few  other  men  could  command  on  the  interesting 
duties  of  the  bar,  and  the  liioh  honors  to  which  its  success  con- 
ducted.  'No  man  in  the  land,'  said  he,  'need  be  ashamed  to 
belong  to  such  a  profession.  For  my  part,  of  a  noble  family  my- 
self, I  felt  no  degradation  in  practicing  it :  it  has  added  not  only 
to  my  wealth,  but  to  my  dignity.'  Curran  was  silent,  which  the 
host  observing,  called  for  his  opinion.  '  Lord  Erskine,'  said  he, 
'has  so  eloquently  described  all  the  advantages  t>  be  derived 
from  the  profession,  that  I  hardly  thought  my  poor  opinion  wa? 

♦  The  Prince  Regent— afterwards  George  IV.— M. 


RIVAL  wrrS.  456 

NH'ortli  adding.  But  perhaps  it  was — uernaps  I  am  a  better  prac- 
tical instance  of  its  advantages  even  than  his  lordship — he  was 
ennobled  by  birth  before  he  came  to  it,  but  it  lias,'  said  he,  making 
an  obeisance  to  his  host,  'it  has,  in  my  person,  raised  the  son  of  a 
peasant  to  the  table  of  his  prince!'  Nothing,  perhaps,  could  be 
more  dignified  than  the  humility  of  the  allusion.  But  Mr.  Curran 
had  too  ffreat  a  mind  not  to  feel  that  in  fact  he  was  ennobled  by 
the  obscurity  of  his  origin.  The  accident  of  birth  is  sui-ely  no 
personal  merit  of  its  possessor ;  and  too  true  it  is  that  the  pui-e 
fountain  of  hereditary  honor  too  often  flows  through  a  poHuted 
channel.  Between  these  two  great  contemporary  rivals  a  rom- 
parison  has  been  often  instituted.  It  is,  perliai)s,  scai'cely  admis- 
sible. There  was  very  little  in  common  between  them  :  they 
were  rather  to  be  contrasted  than  compared.  Each  had  his  own 
peculiar  merits,  and  each  did  honor  to  his  profession  and  his 
country.  The  following  playful  description,  by  Byron,  is  amusing 
and  truthful,  thouo-h,  as  tJie  reader  has  already  seen,  he  aliered 
his  opinion  much  in  Mr.  Curran's  favor.  The  noble  poet  is 
enumerating  the  guests  at  a  dinner  party  : 

♦'  There  also  wore  two  wits  by  acclamation, 
Longbow  from  Ireland,  Strongl)0\v  from  the  Tweed, 
Both  lawyers,  and  both  men  of  education  ; 
But  Strongbow's  wit  was  of  mure  polished  breed  : 
Longbow  was  rich  in  an  imagination, 
As  b<'autiful  and  l»ounding  as  a  steed, 
But  sometimes  stumbling  over  a  potatoe, 
While  Strongbow's  best  things  might  have  come  from  Cato. 

Strongbow  was  lilvc  a  new-tuned  harpsichord  ; 

But  Longbow,  wild  as  an  yEolian  harp, 

With  which  the  winds  of  Heaven  can  claim  accord, 

And  make  a  music  eitlier  flat  or  sliarp. 

Of  Strongbow's  tali<  you  would  not  change  a  word  ; 

At  liongbow's  phrases  you  might  sometimes  carp  : 

Both  wits — one  born  so  and  the  other  bred — 

This  by  the  heart — his  rival  by  the  head." 


456  LIFE   OF   CUEEAN. 

*  In  the  Autumn  of  1816  I  accompanied  liim  to  Clieltenliam  foi* 
the  purpose  of  consulting  Sir  Arthur  Brooke  Faulkener  (a  frieutl 
and  physician  wliom  he  much  valued)  on  the  state  of  his  health. 
During  his  visit,  though  at  times  depressed,  he  occasionally  rallied 
and  even  went  a  little  into  society. 

"  I  had  introduced  him  to  two  very  lovely  and  accomplished 
sisters,  who  have  since  ffoue  to  increase  the  treasures  of  the  East. 
After  passing  an  evening  in  the  enjoyment  of  conversation  rarely 
to  be  met  with,  he  said  to  me,  'I  never  saw  such  creatures:  even 
to  my  old  eyes  it  is  quite  refreshing  to  see  the  sunshine  of  genius 
dying  over  their  heautifiU  countenances.^ 

"  On  the  walk,  one  nioi'ning,  we  met  an  Irish  gentleman  who 
certainly  most  patriotically  pi'cserved  his  native  pronunciation. 
He  had  acipiired  a  singular  halvjt  of  lolling  out  his  tongue. 
'What  can  ho  possibly  mean  by  it?'  said  I  to  Curran.  'I  think 
it's  clear  enough,'  said  he,  ^  the  man's  trying  to  catch  the  E)ujlish 
accent^ 

"  On  another  occasion,  passing  a  person  whom  he  much  disliked, 
he  said,  'Observe  that  solemn  blockhead — that  pompous  lump  of 
dulness.  Now,  if  you  breakfested  and  dined  with  that  fellow  for 
a  hundred  years,  you  could  not  be  intimate  with  him — he  would 
not  even  be  seen  to  smile,  lest  any  body  might  suppose  he  was 
too  familiar  with  himself  P 

"Curran  used  to  I'elate  a  ludicrous  encounter  between  himself 
and  a  lish-woman  on  the  quay  at  Cork.  .  This  lady,  whose  tongue 
would  have  put  Billingsgate  to  the  blush,  was  incited  one  day  to 
assail  him,  which  she  did  with  very  little  reluctance.  'I  thought 
myself  a  match  for  her,'  said  he,  'and  valorously  took  up  :,he 
gauntlet.  But  such  a  virago  never  skinned  an  eel.  On  the  con- 
trary, she  was  manifestly  becoming  more  vigorous  every  moment, 
and  I  had  nothing  for  it  but  to  beat  a  retreat.  This,  howevei-, 
was  to  be  done  with  dignity,  so,  drawing  myself  up  disdai)ifully, 
I  said,  'Madam,  1  scorn  all  failher  discourse  with  such  an  indivi- 
dual.''    She   did   not  understand  the   word,   and  thought  it,  no 


THE    BREAK-UP.  4-57 

tloubt,  ihe  vei'v  liyperbole  of  opprobriuui.  '  Individual,  you  vvaga- 
bone  !'  she  .screamed  ;  '  what  do  you  mean  by  that?  I'm  no  more 
an  indi\idual  than  your  motlier  was!'  Never  was  victory  more 
complete.  The  whole  sisterhood  did  homage  to  me,  and  I  left 
the  quay  of  Cork  covered  with  glory."] 

In  the  spring  of  1817,  he  began  to  sink  rapidly.  While  dining 
with  his  friend,  Mr.  Thomas  Moore,  he  suffered  a  slight*  paralytic 
attack  in  one  of  his  hands.  He  was  also  incouimoded  by  frequent 
oppression  in  his  chest,  for  which,  as  well  as  for  his  general  health, 
his  I'oedical  advisers  recommendel  hini  to  visit  the  milder  climate 
of  the  south  of  Europe.  Prepai-atory  to  following  that  advice,  he 
passed  over  to  iJublin.  in  July,  to  arrange  his  private  afiairs.  But 
his  friends  could  perceive,  by  his  altered  looks,  that  the  hour  of 
final  separation  was  fast  approaching.  Of  this  ho  was  not  insensi- 
ble himself.  As  he  walked  through  the  grounds  of  his  country 
seat,  with  Mr.  M'Nally,  he  spoke  of  the  impending  event  with 
tranquillity  and  resignation. 

'•  I  melt  (said  be)  ami  am  not 
Of  stronger  earth  than  others. 

/  icish  it  was  all  over." 

On  the  day  of  his  departure  for  England,  after  having  parted 
in  the  ordinary  way  from  another  of  his  friends,  he  returned  sud- 
denly and  gi'aspcd  his  hand,  saying,  in  a  affectionate,  but  firm 
tone,  "You  will  never  behold  me  more."  He  had  a  short  time 
before,  when  leaving  Cheltenham,  handed  the  following  little  im- 
prom[)tu,  as  a  final  adieu  to  a  family  there  (Sir  Arthur  Biooke 
Faulkener's),  from  whom  he  had  received  peculiar  marks  of  hos- 
pitality and  kindness : 

"  For  welcome  warm,  for  greeting  kind 
The  present  thanks  the  tongue  can  tell ; 
But  soon  tlie  heart  no  tongue  may  find, 
Then  thauk  tbee  with  a  sad  farewell  1'' 
20 


458  LIFE   OF   CUERAiJ. 

As  Ml'.  Curran  travelled  between  Holyhead  and  Cheltenham  he 
waa  re-visited  by  paralytic  symptoms.  Upon  his  arrival  at  the 
latter  place,  doubtful  of  the  nature  of  the  recent  attack,  he  request- 
ed of  a  medical  friend  to  examine  his  pulse,  and  to  declare  expli 
citly  whether  it  indicated  any  disposition  to  palsy.  The  physician 
assured  him,  that  there  was  no  indication  of  the  kind.  "Then," 
said  Mr.  Curran,  "  I  suppose  I  am  to  consider  what  has  lately  hap- 
pened as  a  runaway  knock,  and  not  a  notice  to  quit." 

"  In  the  summer  of  1817  he  returned  to  Ireland  for  the  last  time, 
and  in  the  September  of  that  year  again  joined  me  at  Cheltenham, 
under  what  mental  disquietude  the  following  letter,  written  a  few 
days  before  to  a  friend  there,  will  evince  much  better  than  any 
words  of  mine  : 

" '  My  Dear  Friend — You'll  think  me  a  sad  fellow — so  I  thint 
too.  However,  you  are  too  clear-sighted  in  diagnostics  not  to  see 
the  causes  of  my  being  so  low-pulsed  a  correspondent.  The  truth 
is,  I  was  every  day  on  the  point  of  leaving  a  country  where  folly 
and  suffering  tvere  lying  like  lead  iqjon  my  heart ;  and,  in  the 
mean  time,  I  could  only  make  one  communication,  the  most 
unnecessary  in  the  world,  namely,  that  I  never  suspend  the  respect 
and  solicitude  which  I  always  feel  for  you,  and  to  which  you  are 
so  well  entitled. 

"  '  Now  I  think  you  may  look  to  a  call  at  least.  I  may  not  be 
able,  perhaps,  to  linger  long,  but  I  could  not  hnd  myself  within 
shot  of  you  without  coming  mechanically  to  a  present  and  a  snaj), 
even  though  it  should  be  no  more  than  Si  flash  in  the  pan.  I  had 
hopes  of  seeing  your  brother,  but  he  has  deceived  my  hope.  As 
to  Hope  herself,  I  have  closed  my  accounts  altogether  with  her. 
Drawiug  perpetually  upon  my  credulity,  I  now  find  her,  too  late, 
an  insolvent  swindler.  Meantime  my  entire  life  passed  in  a 
wretched  futurity — breathing,  I  may  say,  in  the  paulo  post 
futurum:  I  have  happily,  however,  found  out  the  only  remedy, 


THE    CLOSING    SCENEg.  459 

atid  that  is,  to  ffive  over  the  folly  of  breatking  at  all.  I  li;id  some 
hope  for  this  persecuted  country,  but  th;it,  I  fear,  is  over.  If  our 
heads  were  curled  like  the  Africans,  I  suppose  we  should  go 
snacks  with  them  in  the  justice  and  synipathy  of  that  humane  and 
philanthropic  nation  of  yours;  but  if  her  tears  of  commiseration 
should  make  the  hair  of  the  Africans  lank  like  ours,  I  make  no 
doubt  but  you  would  send  a  coxcomb  or  two  politically  and  madly 

like and *  to  Ireland. 

" '  Ever  yours,  J.  P.  Curran.' 

"  His  short  stay  at  Cheltenham  could  scarcely  be  called  existence. 
During  that  time  he  was  with  difficulty  induced  to  pass  the  week 
of  the  Gloucester  musical  festival  at  Hynham  Court,  near  that 
city.  Here  he  became  restless  and  unmanageable.  Music,  of 
which  he  had  been  so  passionately  fond,  only  irritated  and  incensetl 
him.  All  of  a  sudden,  at  one  of  the  morning  performances  at  the 
Cathedral,  he  took  it  into  his  head  that  the  whole  proceeding  was 
a  blasphemy,  and  insisted  on  elbowing  himself  out  thi'ough  the 
aisle!  Remonstrance  was  in  vain.  'I'll  stand  it  no  longer  !'  he 
exclaimed,  while  all  eyes  were  turned  towards  him;  'it's  shameful 
— it's  sijiful — ^just  hear  him — the  black,  odious baboon,  yell- 
ing out  that  "  the  Lord  is  a  man  of  war,"  I'll  not  countenance  it ' 
— and  away  lie  went !  Nothing  whatever  could  induce  him  again 
to  enter  the  Cathedral,  and  he  abruptly  retuiiK-d  to  ('hcltcniiam 
on  the  next  day,  wliither,  under  the  circumstances,  I  felt  it  a  duty 
to  follow  him.  lie  had  had,  it  seems,  some  premonitory  symp- 
toms in  the  spi'ing  of  the  year,  at  which  his  pliysicians  felt  no 
alai'm,  but  which  greatly  added  to  his  own  depression.  It  was 
but  too  clear,  however,  that  nature  was  almost  exhausted.  He 
fell  asleep  in  the  daytime,  and  even  after  dinner,  and  when  he 
awoke  it  was  to  thoughts  of  sadness.    It  was  ii^  this  frame  of  mind 


*  I  have   left  au  hiatus  horc,  out  of  my  high  respect  for  the  Attorney-General. — C. 
Phillips. 


460  LIFE  OF  CtTERAN. 

that  be  once  said  to  Mr.  Grattan,  'I  beo-in  to  tremble  for  ii eland. 
I  almost  wish  to  go  to  Spain,  and  borrow  a  beard,  and  turn  monk. 
I  am  weaning  off  my  early  afiections,  and  almost  wish  the  grave- 
digger  would  overtake  me  in  another  country.'  He  was  perpe- 
tually fancying  things  which  never  had  existence,  and  misinter- 
preting  those  which  had.     He  told  me  he  was  dying. 

"  Poor  fellow !  little  did  I  then  think  that,  in  a  very  few  days, 
I  was  to  see  the  verification  of  his  forebodings !  The  heart, 
indeed,  was  still  beating,  but  the  tongue — that  tongue  so  eloquent 
— was  mute  forever.  On  Wednesday,  the  Sth  of  October,  I  called 
on  him  at  his  lodgings  in  Brompton.  One  of  his  eyes  was  swol- 
len, and  partly  closed  ;  but  so  little  was  it  heeded,  that  he  asked 
me  to  dine  with  him  on  the  day  following,  to  meet  Mr.  Godwin. 
It  was,  however,  alas !  a  fatal  premonitory  symptom.  At  eleven 
o'clock  at  nio-ht  he  wrote  the  followino-  note  to  me — tlie  last  he  ivas 
to  write!  It  is  remarkable  that  there  is  not  a  supertiiious  word 
in  it.     In  fact,  he  was  struck  with  apoplexy  in  two  hours  after. 

"  '  Dear  Phillips — Just  got  a  note  :  Mrs.  Godwin  is  sick ;  he'll 
dine  here  Sunday.  If  you  prefer  an  invalid,  come  to-morrow — 
You'd  be  more  gratified  on  Sunday.      Utrum  h/)rum  ?     Yours, 

'J.  P.  CURRAN. 
" '  Wednesday ' 

"  This  note  I  received  at  my  hotel  at  seven  o'clock  on  Thursday 
morning,  and  with  it  the  mournful  intelligence  of  what  had 
occurred.  I  hastened  at  once  to  ]^roinpton,  and,  alas  !  what  a 
spectacle  awaited  me !  There  he  lay  upon  the  bed  of  death — 
scarcely  breathing — one  eye  closed,  and  one  side  quite  inanimate. 

"And  this  was  all  that  now  remained  of  Ourhax — the  lip-ht  of 
society— the  glory  of  the  foi'um — the  Fabricius  of  the  senate — the 
idol  of  his  country^  The  only  symjjtom  of  intelligence  he  gave 
was  his  squeezing  my  hand  when  I  asked  if  he  recognised  me.  A 
few  days  afterward  he  seemed  conscious  of  the  presence  of  one  of 


HIS   DEATH. 


^61 


his  oldest  and  most  valued  friends,  the  late  Judge  Burton.  All 
that  filial  iiiety  could  do,  aided  by  the  most  eminent  of  the 
faculty,  to  alleviate  his  sufferings,  was  done.  At  seven  o'clock 
on  the  evening  of  the  fourteenth  of  October,  I  saw  him  for  the 
last  time:  at  nine  we  lost  him.  lie  e.\[iired  at  Y  Amelia  Place 
Brompton,  in  the  sixty-eighth  year  of  his  age."*] 

lie  had  arrived  in  London  in  September,  where  he  proposed  to 
pass. the  winter,  still  intending  to  jjroceed  to  the  south  of  Fi-ance, 
or  Italy,  in  the  commencement  of  the  ensuing  spring.  His  spirits 
were  now  in  a  state  of  the  most  distressing  depression.  He  com- 
plained of  having  "a  mountain  of  lead  upon  his  heai't."  This  de- 
spondency he  increased  by  dwelling  pei'petually  upon  the  condi- 
tion of  Ireland,  which  his  imagination  was  for  e\"er  representing 
to  him  as  doomed  to  endless  divisions  and  degi'adation.  A  few  days 
before  his  last  illness  he  dined  with  his  friend,  the  late  Mr.  Thomas 
riiompson.  After  dinner  he  was  for  a  while  cheerful  and  anima- 
ted, but  scmie  allusion  having  been  made  to  Irish  politics,  he  in- 
stantly liung  down  bis  head,  and  burst  into  tears.  On  the  Vth  of 
October,  a  swelling  appeared  over  one  of  his  eyes,  (o  which,  attri- 
buting it  to  cold,  he  gave  little  attention.  On  the  night  of  the  8th, 
he  was  attacked  by  apoplexy.  He  was  attended  by  two  eminent 
pliysicians.  Doctors  iiadliam  and  Ainslie,  and  by  Mr.  Tegart,  of 
Pall  Mall,  all  of  whom  pronounced  his  recovery  to  be  impossible. 
The  utmost  efl:orts  of  tlieir  skill  could  not  protract  his  existence 
many  days.f  Mr.  Curran  expireil  at  nine  o'clock  at  night,  on  the 
lllh  of  October,  1817,  in  the  GStli  year  of  his  age.  During  his 
short  illness,  he  appeared  entirelv  five  from  pain  ;  he  was  speech- 
less from   the  commencement  of  the  attack,  auil  with  the  exeep 

♦  Fiom  riiilliii's  Rccollectiuna. — M. 

tHis  last  iiionients  were  so  truiic|uil  thai  lliose  arouml  him  could  scarcely  mark  the  mo- 
ment of  cxpiratiijii.  Though  surprised  liy  sickness  at  a  distatu-e  from  his  houie,  he  was  not 
Condiinued  to  receive  tlie  last  olBccs  from  the  hands  of  stranprers  :  three  of  his  children, 
Captain  Curran  of  the  Navy,  his  sm  at  tlie  Irisli  Har,  aiul  his  datiRliter,  Sirs.  Taylor, 
were  fortunately  in  London,  and  had  the  mournful  gratification  of  paying  the  last  duties 
io  theli-  illustrious  father. — ^O'Kkuan, 


462  LIFE   OF   CURRAN. 

tion  of  a  few  intervals,  quite  insensible.  Ilis  last  minutes  were 
so  placid,  that  those  who  watched  over  him  could  not  mark  the 
exact  moment  of  ex^^iration.  Thi-ee  of  his  children,  his  son-in-law, 
and  daughter-in-law,  and  his  old  and  attached  friend,  Mr  Godwin, 
surrounded  his  death-bed,  and  performed  the  last  offices  of  piety 
and  respect. 

Mr.  Curran's  funeral  did  not  take  place  till  the  4th  of  Novem- 
ber. His  will,  which  it  was  supposed  would  have  contained  his 
own  instructions  upon  the  subject,  having  been  left  in  Ireland,  it 
was  found  necessary  to  await  the  examination  of  that  document, 
and  the  directions  of  the  executors.*  In  the  interval.  Mi-.  Daniel 
O'Connell,  who  was  at  Bath,  and  on  the  point  of  setting  out  with 
his  family  for  Dublin,  having  received  information  of  Mr.  Curran's 
death,  very  generously  sacrificed  eveiy  consideration  of  private 
convenience,  and  hastened  up  to  London,  to  attend  his  deceased 


*  O'Regan  (wlio  wrote  in  1S17)  says:  "The  chiMren  of  Mr.  Curran  wlio  now  survive 
liim  are  Richard,  who  was  called  to  the  Irish  bar,  and  for  some  years  has  retired  from 
it,  under  the  visitation  of  a  settled  melancholy;  John,  a  captain  in  the  Navy;  William, 
now  an  Irish  barrister,,  and  a  gentleman  of  considerable  jiromise.  Mrs.  Taylor,  the  wife 
of  an  Englisli  clergyman  ;  Amelia,  unmarried.  He  had  another  son,  James,  who  died  in 
the  East  Indies ;  and  a  daughter,  who  is  also  dead.  Of  his  brothers  I  knew  two  :  one  who 
is  seneschal  of  Newmarket;  the  other  was  bred  an  attorney,  and  was  considered  a  young 
man  of  as  much  natural  genius  as  Mr.  Curran  }iimself. 

"  The  date  of  the  will  is  the  19th  of  S'.'i)teml)er,  1816,  and  was  opened  in  presence  of  Mr. 
Burton,  Mr.  Richards,  Mr.  M'Nally,  Mr.  John  Franks,  barristers,  and  Mr.  Ponsonby 
Shaw.  It  was  deposited  at  Mr.  Shaw's  bank  ;  and  the  abstract,  which  I  know  to  be 
authentic,  is  as  follows;  '  His  real  and  personal  property  is  left  in  trust  to  Philpot  Fitz- 
gerald for  his  life-use,  with  remainder  to  Mr.  Curran's  collateral  relations;  subject  to  a 
charge  of  £5000  for  Henry  Fitzgerald,  brother  to  Phil])0t  Fitzgerald,  called  his  nephews; 
a  provision  on  the  estate  of  £S0  a  year  for  Mrs.  Curran  for  her  life  ;  an  annuity  of  £60 
a  year  to  his  daughter  Amelia  Curran,  in  addition  to  such  provision  as  he  before  had 
made  for  her  ;  a  sura  of  £300  was  bequeathed  to  Mrs.  Dickson,  of  Bronipton  :  some  small 
li^Kacies  ;  but  neither  of  his  sons  Richard,  John,  or  William,  were  mentioned  in  the  will 
or  codicil ;  nor  his  daughter  Mrs.  Taylor.  Thomas  Quin,  John  Franks,  John  Glover, 
and  Charles  Burton,  Es((Uires,  were  named  trustees  and  executors. — He  had  in  the  Irii^h 
funds  from  ten  to  twelve  Uiousand  pounds  in  tlie  3J^  per  cents,  stock  in  his  own  name. 
The  Priory  was  the  whole  of  his  freelmlil  estate.  The  interest  he  had  in  a  lease  of  his 
former  residence  in  the  county  of  Cork  had  e.xpired.  He  also  had  some  property  in  the 
American  funds,  but  I  cannot  at  present  ascertain  its  amount ;  it  is  supposed  not  to  have 
been  considerable." — M. 


HIS   BUKIAL.  463 

countryman  to  the  grave  :  an  act  of  aftectionate  respect  which  was 
peculiarly  honourable  to  that  gentleman,  between  whom  and  Mr. 
Curran  a  considerable  misunderstanding  had  latterly  existed  upon 
the  subject  of  Catholic  politics.     It  was  the  anxious  desire  of  Mr. 
O'Connell,  and  of  several  other  friends  of  Mr.  Curran,  who  were 
upon  the  spot,  that  his  remains  should  be  transported  to  his  own 
country,  in  order  to  give  a  people,  with  whose  interests  and  destiny 
the  departed  advocate  had  so  entirely  identified  his  own,  a  final 
opportunity  of  publicly  testifying  their  adiuiiation  and   regrets. 
Those  who  advised  this  measure  were  a\\are  that  he  had  himself 
(when  he  felt  his  end  approaching)  found  a  source  of  atl'ecting 
consolation  in   the  hope  that,  wherever  it  should  be  his  fate  to 
expire,  Ireland  would  claim  him.     "The  last  duties  (he  pathetically 
observed  in  one  of  his  latest  letters)  Avill  be  i)aid  by  that  country 
on  which  they  ai'e  devolved;  nor  will  if  be  for  charity  liiat  a  little 
earth  shall  be  given  to  my  bones,     Tendei'ly  will  those  duties  be 
paid,  as  the  debt  of  well-earned  affection,  and  of  gratitude  not 
ashamed  of  her  tears,"     But  with  this  last  wish  it  was  now  found 
impossible  to  comply.     His  will  was  altogether  silent  regarding 
his  interment;  and  of  the  four  executors  whom  he  had   appointed 
only  one  was  present  in  Dublin,     That  excellent  person  (Mr,  John 
Franks  of  the  Irish  bar),  had  he  been  left  to  the  exercise  of  his 
sole  discretion,  would  have  yielded  to  none  in  performing  any  act 
of  honour  or  affection  to  the   memory  of  his  friend;  but  in  con- 
sequence of  the  absence  of  the  other  executoi's,  and  fi-oiu  several 
legal  considerations,  he  could  not  feel  himself  justified  in  autho- 
rising any   departure   from   the  oi'dinary  course,      Mr,  Curran's 
remains  were,  therefore,  privately  interred  in  London,  in  one  of 
the  vaults  of  the  I'addinwton  church,* 

*  The  persons  who  atteniied  liis  fiincval  wore  (besides  the  nienibci-s  of  his  own  family) 
Mr.  Tegart,  Messrs.  Lyno  and  P.  I'hillips,  of  Uie  Irish  bar,  Mr.  P.  Kinnerty,  tlie  late  Mr, 
Thomas  Thompson,  the  Kev.  George  Croly,  Mr.  Thomas  Moore,  and  Mr.  Godwin.  Mr. 
CConnell's  professional  en^fagenients  had  oblijied  him  reluctantly  to  depart  for  Ireland 
before  the  day  of  Sh'.  Curran's  interment.— C.  [Mr.  O'Connell  was  at  Itatli  when  Curran 
died.     lie  inuiipdiately  wrote  to  Jlr.  Phillips,  at  London,  strongly  recounnending  a  public 


i(j4:  LIFE    OF   CUKKAN 

[In  1834,  seventeen  years  after  the  death  of  Mr.  Ciirran,  a  com- 
mittee of  gentlemen  was  formed  in  Dublin,  to  provide  for  tlie 
removal  of  his  mortal  remains  to  Ireland.  Prospect  Cemetery, - 
Glasnevin,  Dublin,  was  the  locality  selected  for  his  last  earthly 
resting-2:)lace.  The  consent  of  his  son  (and  biographer)  was 
obtained, — a  faculty  permitting  the  removal  of  the  body  from 
Paddington  Church  "was  procured, — the  exhumed  body  was 
removed  to  the  house  of  Alderman  Sir  Matthew  Wood,  in  George 
Street, — it  was  thence  taken  to  Dublin,  where  it  was  received  by 
Mr.  W.  II.  Cui-ran  and  one  of  the  Committee, — was  temporarily 
deposited  in  the  pri\'ate  Mausoleum  at  Lyons,  the  residence  of  Lord 
Cloncurry,  the  friend  of  Curran, — and  was  finally  removed  to  a 
grave  atGlasnevin.  The  attendants  were  Messrp.^^^  II.  Curran,  John 
Finlay,  Con.  Lyne,  and  Andrew  Carew  O'Dwyer — the  last-named 
being  the  person  with  wdiom  oi-iginated  the  proposition  for  restoring 
the  remains  to  their  native  soil.  This  re-interment  was  }>i'ivate. 
The  pageantry  of  a  naiional  procession  which  was  suggested,  was 
respectfully  and  judiciously  declined  by  Mr.  W.  II.  Curran.  A 
massive  sarcophagus  in  Glasnevin  contains  the  remains  of  Ireland's 
great  orator  and  patriot,  and  the  inscription,  far  more  expressive 
than  a  laboured  epitaph,  is  simply  the  one  word 

CURRAN. 

There  is  a  monument  to  Curran  in  St.  Patrick's  Catliedral, 
Dublin — a  bust  by  Moore,  on  a  sarcophagus.  It  is  copied  from 
Lawrence's  portrait,  and,  Mr.  Davis  says,  "  is  the  finest  monument, 
so  simjily  made,  I  ever  saw.     It  is  most  like  him  in  his  glorified 

funeral,  declaring  that  of  all,  he  was  "the  only  incorrupted  and  faithful,"  adding, 
"  There  is  a  loveliness  and  a  heartiness  over  me  when  I  think  of  this  great  man  whom 
we  have  lost.  Cliarles,  there  never  was  .so  honest  an  Irishman.  His  very  soul  was 
republican  Irish.  Look  to  his  history  in  UTS,  in  'S2,in  1790— at  the  Union— at  all  times— 
In  all  places."  He  suggested  that  the  Irish  of  all  classes  in  London  should  be  invited  to 
attend  the  funeral,  each  weai-ing  a  shamrock,  and  that  "  on  his  coffin  should  be  laid  a 
broken  harp  and  a  wreath  of  shamrock."— The  funeral  was  private.— M.] 


CDERAJS^'S   MONUMENT.  465 

mood,  full  of  tliougbt  and  action.  In  an  Irisli  Pantheon,  our 
greatest  orator  should  be  represented  at  full  length,  and  the  bas- 
reliefs  of  his  sarcophagus  should  be  his  receiving  Fatlier  Neale's 
blessing,  his  rising  to  defend  the  Sheareses,  his  delivery  of  the 
judgment  on  Merry  and  Power,  and  his  weeping  for  Ireland  near 
Ills  child's  grave  at  the  Priory."] 


466  LIFE   OF  CUKKAN. 


CHAPTER  XV] ir. 

Observations  on  Mr.  Curran's  Eloquence— Objections  to  his  Style  considered— His  liabitB 
of  preparation  for  Public  Speaking — His  Ideas  of  Popular  Eloquence — His  Pathos- 
Variety  of  his  powers — His  Imagination — Peculiarity  of  his  Images— His  use  of  Ridicute 
— Propensity  to  Metaplior — Irish  eloquence — Its  origin — Jlr.  Curran's  and  Burke's 
eloquence  compared. 

For  the  last  twenty  years  of  liis  life,  Mr.  Curran  enjoyed  the 
reputation  of  being  the  most  eloquent  advocate  that  had  ever  ap- 
peared at  the  Irish  bar ;  and  if  future  times  shall  hold  his  genius 
in  estimation,  it  is  eloquence  uliich  must  entitle  him  to  that  dis- 
tinction.*    His  name  may,  indeed,  derive  a  still  more  splendid 

*  O'Regan  says:  "  Wliatever  cr'ticism  may  have  torn  from  him, — however  mutilated 
he  may  have  been  by  the  shallowness  or  inaccuracy  of  his  reporters,  his  effect  has  been  as 
described;  in  one  comparatively  subordinate  power  of  mind,  so  frequently  mistaken  for 
genius  or  high  umlerstanding,  he  manifested  taste  in  almost  e  'ery  subject  connected 
with  literature.  His  skill  in  music  made  him  attentive  to  ihe  structare  and  harmony  of 
liis  periods.  He  well  knew  that  eloqut-nce  charmed  the  ear,  and  opcnei  the  widest 
entra-ice  to  the  heart;  and  he  studied  with  great  earnestness  the  i-rinciples  of  this  art. 
So  fastidious  '.v-as  he  of  pedantry,  tliat,  amidst  his  profuse  quotations  from  the  ancient 
classics  he  studiously  avoided  this  error  :  when  he  used  them,  they  were  employed  as 
po  verful  illustrations,  oj-  beautiful  ornaments.  He  was  one  of  those  few  scliolars  who 
Btrijiped  liter:itui-e  of  that  afiectation  which  encumbers  it;  he  broke  and  tlung  away  the 
husk  and  shell  by  wliicli  it  is  too  frequently  surrounded;  and  his  delicacy  fused  the 
original  sentiments  into  his  native  language,  enriching  both  by  tlie  medium  through 
■which  both  ,;'ere  delivered.  You  drank  the  Falernian  in  all  its  ricliness  and  raciness. 
You  looked  not  to  the  niu.-^ty  casks  of  antiquity  for  the  mark  of  the  consulate,  in  which 
it  had  been  stored^;  but  you  got  it  defecated  and  poured  forth  in  profusion  into  the  clear 
modern  glass,  sparkling  and  mantling  hi  all  the  purple  colours,  and  in  all  the  odour  and 
flavour  of  its  best  vintage.  To  llils  exquisite  delicacy  of  taste  Jlr.  Curran  had  not  an 
exclusive  title;  in  the  fitie  and  cultivated  mind  of  Mr.  Bushe,  redolent  with  classics,  he 
may  have  found  a  rival."  He  adds—"  .Su-:h  was  the  effect  produced,  that  in  taking  the 
note  of  his  speecli  in  the  case  of  Massy  and  Headfort,  in  which  I  was  of  counsel  with 
him,  I  became  suspended  ;  the  Iiand  forgot  its  office,  and,  till  roused  from  the  delicious 
transport  by  some  friend  near  me,  I  was  not  conscious  that  I  left  the  paper  unstained  by 
any  one  note.  On  observing  this  circumstance  to  Mr.  Curran  in  a  few  days  after,  he 
said,  '  Possibly  at  that  very  moment  you  were  taking  the  best  impression,  perhaps  then 
di-inking  deeply.  It  :s  probable  it  was  then  you  were  doing  me  and  yourself  the  greatest 
just;ce,' "— ai. 


HIS    ELOQUENCE,  467 

claim  to  postliumous  respect,  for  the  purity  and  manliness  of  bia 
puDlic  conduct,  during  times  wlieu  the  hearts  and  nerves  of  so 
many  others  were  tried,  and  sunk  beneath  tlie  proof.  Divested  of 
tliis,  liis  eloquence  would  have  been  comparatively  worthless. 
Orators  are  common  characters ;  but  it  is  not  so  common  to  find  a 
man,  upon  every  occasion  of  his  life  jireferring  his  public  duty  to 
his  personal  advancement — conducting  himself,  amidst  the  shock 
of  civil  contentions,  with  danger  and  allurements  on  every  side,  so 
as  to  command  the  entire  approbation  of  his  own  conscience  and 
the  more  impartial,  though  not  more  valuable,  applause  of  that 
succeeding  time  which  is  a  stranger  to  the  particular  interests  and 
passions  that  might  bias  its  decisions.  This  period  has  not  yet  come ; 
but  it  may  be  asserted  that  it  is  approaching,  and  that  when  it  shall 
actually  arrive,  Mr.  Curran's  meiiiory  has  nothing  to  fear  from  its 
judgment.  Before  this  tribunal  it  will  be  admitted  that  he,  and 
the  few  who  joined  him,  in  making  (in  defiance  of  much  momentary 
opprobrium)  an  undaunted  stand  against  those  sinister  measures 
upon  Avhich  the  framers  have  subsequently  reflected  with  shame, 
were  but  exercising  the  right  of  superior  minds,  whose  privilege  it 
is  to  discern,  amidst  all  the  tumult  of  conflicting  opinions,  and  the 
hasty  expedients  of  ephemeral  sagacity,  what  alone  is  permanently 
wise  and  good — to  judge  the  men  and  acts  of  their  own  day,  with 
the  same  unbetraying  firmness  with  which  they  judge  the  times  that 
have  passed,  and  with  which  posterity  will  judge  themselves.  It 
will  not  be  overlooked,  that  it  is  the  ordinary  fate  of  such  persons 
to  be  misconceived  and  reviled  ;  that  in  the  hour  of  general  intoxi- 
cation, the  most  grievous  of  offenders  is  he  who  passes  the  cup, 
and  will  not  be  degraded,  rebuking,  by  his  importunate  sobriety, 
the  indecent  revelry  that  surrounds  him.  To  have  done  this  will 
be  considered  more  rare  and  honourable  in  Mr.  Cui-ran's  history, 
llian  to  have  been  distinguished  by  the  most  commanding  abilities; 
but  in  bis  case  it  is  needless  to  dwell  upon  liis  conduct  as  separated 
from  his  oratory.  "  Words,"  said  Mirabeau,  "  are  things."  In  Mr. 
Curran's  public  life,  his  speeches  were  his  acts ;  and  all  that  tlia 


468  LIFE    OV   CUERAK. 

reader  of  them  requii-es  to  know  is,  that  liis  pivactice  never  discre- 
dited his  professions.  If  what  he  said  was  honest,  wliathe  did  was 
not  less  so.  Uis  languao-o  and  his  actions  liad  a  common  origin  and 
object,  and  cannot  now  be  dissociated  for  the  pmnose  of  separate 
encomium  or  condemnation  ;  it  is  out  of  his  own  moutli  that  he 
must  now  be  judged. 

H'A  eloq^uence  was  original,  not  fonned  by  the  imitation  of  any 
pieceding  model,  so  much  as  I'esultrng  from  his  indi\idual  consti- 
tution of  mind  and  temperament,  and  from  the  particulai-  nature  of 
the  society  and  the  scenes  upon  which  he  was  tlirown.  With  the 
same  advantages  of  education  elsewhere,  he  would  undoubtedly 
have  I'is^n  above  the  ordinary  level — he  possessed  powers  too  un- 
common to  keep  him  long  in  obscurity;  but  it  reip'.ired  the  theatre 
upon  which  his  life  was  passed,  to  give  them  that  exact  direction 
to  which  his  oratory  is  indebted  for  its  peculiar  character.*  Tiie 
liistory  of  his  mind  is,  in  this  respect,  intimately  connected  with 
that  of  his  countiy. 

By  nature  ardent,  of  the  most  acute  sensibility,  instinctively  ahve 
to  every  social  gratification,  he  passed  his  infancy  and  youth  among 
those  ranks  where  such  qualities  are  the  peculiar  objects  of  applause. 
The  heart  naturally  cherishes  the  scenes  and  authors  of  its  first 
indulgences ;  and  Mr.  Curran  entered  upon  his  career  of  j^ublio 


*  Mr.  O'Regan  says:  "  He  found  within  himself  Uie  happy  power  of  giving  shapes  and 
exquisite  forms  to  the  beings  of  his  own  creation.  Whether  passing  from  images  of  ter- 
ror to  the  soft  and  tender  touches  of  pattios;  whetlier  he  sported  in  the  laugh  of  comedy,  \ 
or  in  the  broad  grin  o!  farce,  he  was  equally  successful  in  all.  If  he  would  hurl  the  bolt 
of  a  Jupiter,  shake  thrones,  and  appal  tyrants,  you  might  conceive  it  was  the  work  of 
Homer  !  Would  he  move  to  pity,  you  had  all  the  effect  of  Virgil  ;  and  would  he  excite  to 
mirth  or  laughter,  you  might  have  fancied  yourself  conversing  with  a  Congreve.  Such 
■was  his  excellence  in  each  of  these  departments,  Uiat  he  may  have  placed  himself  marly 
at  the  head  of  each  ;  yet,  though  he  rejected  with  fastidiousness  to  form  himself  either 
on  the  plans  of  tlie  sophists,  or  of  those  societies  which  prefer  words  to  ideas,  talking  to 
thinking,  he  furnished  his  mind  from  the  great  stores  of  antiquity,  and  enriched,  it  rith 
much  of  the  best  and  purest  modern  literature.  By  both  he  chastened  the  wand-irings  ui 
liis  own  luxuriant  imagination,  and  regulated  the  branches  without  iujuring  the  f..-e»f ; 
the  sap  was  directed  to  feed  the  trunk,  not  to  waste  its  aliment  ;n  idle  foliag'i,  or  in 
Ijaudy  flowers." — M, 


SYMPATHY   WxTU   TSE   I'EOfLE.  469 

life  sliongly  attached   to  that  order  of  the  community  which  he 
had  first  known  and  of   whicli,  notwithstanding    liis    accidental 
elevation,  he  considered  himself  as  a  part,  and  as  hound  to  their 
intere  its  hj  every  motive  of  sympathy  and  duty.     Tliis  early  incli- 
nation to  the  popular  cause  could  not  fm\  to  he  encouraged  by 
the  condition  of  the  times — by  the  successful  etibrts  of  America, 
which  exc-ited  so  much  imitative  enthusiasm  in  Ireland — and  by 
those  consequent  movements  of  patriotic  spirit  which  preceded  the 
revolution  of  1 7S2.     But,  above  all,  there  was  in  his  daily  view  the 
degi-aded  condition  of  his  fellow-subjects  ;  a  spectacle  which,  with- 
out any  farther  incentive,  might  readily  awaken,  in  a  feeling  breast, 
much  suspicion  of  the  wisdom  and  humanity  of  the  government  that 
could   countenance  such   a  system.     Nor  did  his  mind,  when  it 
ascended  from  his  own  personal  impulses  to  tlie  less  questionable 
conclusions  of  England's  great  legal  and  constitutional  authorities, 
discover  anything  that  should  make  him  pause  in  his  estimate  of 
the  importance  of  the  people's  privileges.     In  contemplating  the 
British  constitution,  to  the  fullest  benefits  of  which  he  never  ceased 
to  vindicate  his  country's  most  undoubted  claim,  his  first  and  his 
last  conviction  was,  that  no  matter  by  what  terms  it  might  be 
described,  it  was  essentially  popular;  that  the  original  elemental 
principle  which  gave  it  life  and  vigour,  and  which  alone  could  give 
it  permanency,  was  the  subject's  freedom  ;  that  this,  the  most  vital 
part,  experience,  had  shown  to  be  most  exposed  to  unconstitutional 
invasion  ;  and  that,  as  long  as  this  practical  tendency  subsisted,  it 
behoved  every  friend  to  the  throne  and  the  laws  to  demonsti'ate  his 
attachment,  not  by  a  parade  of  simulated  or  fanatic  loyalty,  but  by 
upholding,  on  every  occasion,  the  dignity  and  the  spirit  of  the  sub- 
ject.    But,  wliatever  was  the  cause,  whether  the  original  character 
of  his  mind,  or  the  influence  of  early  associations,  or  his  education, 
or   the  passing  scene,  or,  as  seems  most  probable,  all  of  them 
combined,  he  no  sooner  appeared  than  he  declared   himself  the 
advocate  of  the  people's  rights,  a  title  which   he  ever  after  sup- 
ported with  an  ai^our  and  constancy  that  leave  no  doubt  of  his 
sincerity. 


470  LtFE  OP  CTmRAN. 

It  was  the  in  iiisity  of  bis  feeling,  whicli  obstacles  soon  matured 
into  a  passion,  that  gave  sucb  an  uncommon  interest  to  bis  oratory. 
Whatever  may  be  the  opinion  of  the  expediency  of  such  popular 
tenets,  there  is  a  natural  magnificence  about  them,  when  presented 
through  the  medium  of  a  fernd  imagination,  to  which  the  most 
unsympathising  are  compelled  to  pay  a  momentary  homage — to 
those  who  are  persuaded  of  their  truth,  and  who  feel  that  they 
have  been  defrauded  of  their  benefits,  they  come  as  oracles  fraugkt 
with  rapture  and  consolation. 

In  all  Mr.  Curran's  political  speeches  this  sentiment  of  devoted  at- 
tachment to  liberty  and  to  the  country  is  conspicuous,  animating  and 
dignifying  every  topic  that  he  advances.  It  cannot  be  too  frequently 
repeated  (and  to  attest  it  is  a  debt  that  Ireland  owes  his  memory) 
that  in  his  most  vehement  assertion  of  her  rights,  he  was  most 
conscientiously  sincere.  His  love  of  Irel-and  was  of  no  vulgar  and 
fickle  kind,  originating  in  interest,  vanity  or  ambition.  Ireland  was 
the  choice  of  his  youth,  and  was  from  first  to  last  regarded  by  him, 
not  so  much  with  the  feelings  of  a  patriot  as  with  the  romantic 
idolatry  of  a  lover.  To  her  his  heart  vk^as  contracted  for  better  aud 
for  worse ;  to  her  "  what  he  had  to  give  he  gave,"  confederating 
all  his  most  cherished  projects  with  her  wayward  fortunes,  and 
surrendering  to  her  service  all  the  resources  of  his  genius,  in  the 
successive  stages  of  her  pride,  her  hopes,  her  struggles,  and  her 
despair.  In  him  eveiy  man  who  knew  him  knew  that  these  were 
not  common-place  pretences,  which  he  put  forth  as  mere  instru- 
ments of  rhetoric :  the  most  sensitive  of  his  audience  were  never 
under  more  subjection  to  his  enthusiasm  than  he  was  himself;  and 
it  was  in  the  evidence  of  this  fact,  more  than  in  any  art,  that  lay 
the  extraordinary  fascination  of  his  manner.  There  was  no  elabo- 
rate ardour,  no  technical  impetuosity;  nothing  to  imply  that  while 
his  lips  were  on  fire  his  heart  might  be  cold;  but  every  look,  tone, 
and  gesture,  carried  with  them  the  conviction,  that  if  he  were 
deludino-  (hem  he  was  deludino-  himself. 

Much  of  this  fei'vour  may  be  collected  from  his  printed  speeclies, 
but  let  the  reader  of  them,  injustice  to  their  author,  recollect  that 


OBJECTtONS  TO   ItlS    STYLE.  4:71 

he  is  a  reader,  not  an  auditor ;  tliat  though  he  may  find  the  M'ords, 
and  even  tliese  imperfectly  recorded,  lie  finds  not  all  those  accom- 
paniments, without  which  the  language  is  hut  a  cold  UKjuumental 
iwiao-e  of  the  thouirhts  that  once  oflowed  with  livino-  enero-y.  The 
words  remain,  but  the  eye  before  which  judges  and  juries  have  so 
often  shrunk — the  unalYccted  and  finely  varying  tones  of  indignant 
remonstrance,  or  of  tender  expostulation — the  solemn  and  pathetic 
pause  that  embodied  in  a  moment's  silence  more  passion  and  per- 
suasion than  any  spoken  eloquence  could  convey — for  these,  and 
foi'  much  more  than  these,  the  reader  must  necessarily  look  in  vain ; 
and  without  them  his  estimate  of  the  orator's  entire  powers  musv, 
be  as  conjectural,  as  if  he  should  undertalce  to  appreciate  the 
merits  of  some  departed  ornament  of  the  stage  from  a  tame  [»eru- 
sal  of  the  scenes  to  which  he  alone  had  imparted  all  the  warmth 
and  dignity  of  life. 

Mr.  Cui'ran's  speeches  have  met  with  son:c  unfavourable  criti- 
cism out  of  Ireland  ;  and,  though  many  of  the  objections  may  be 
founded,  many  have  also  been  made  without  a  sufficient  ad\ertence 
to  the  scenes  which  accompanied  their  delivery.  It  is  found  that 
there  are  passages  and  descriptions  too  strong,  and  even  shocki  ug 
for  the  closet.  One  of  their  principal  merits  was,  that  they  wei'e 
never  intended  for  the  closet :  they  were  intended  for  occasions  of 
emergency  antl  despair;  to  excite  passions  of  such  force  as  to 
counteract  the  violence  of  those  that  already  raged ;  to  rescue  the 
accused,  and  not  to  propitiate  the  critic.  Yet  even  the  critic,  wlio 
eondenuis  the  taste  that  could  paint  the  perjured  informer,  and  other 
public  delinquents,  in  such  loathsome  colours  as  the  Irish  advo- 
cate employed,  should  remember,  that  upon  this  subject  his  own 
rules  will  justify  an  important  distinction.  A  writer  who,  in  worksof 
mere  invention  where  he  has  the  selection  of  liis  topics,  takes  a 
delight  in  dwelling  upon  revolting  ideas,  may  be  justly  accused  of 
being  unhappv  and  perverted  in  his  taste;  but  this  is  only  wliere 
the  introduction  of  such  images  is  gratuitous,  and  not  naturally  aris- 
inf  fm  the  horror  of  the  situation.     "We  should  proscribe  such 


4:72  LIFE   OF  CUREAN. 

situations  altogether,  were  we  fastidiously  to  reject  the  only  colors 
in  which  they  could  be  painted.  We  do  not  complain  of  Burns  for 
the  "father's  grey  hairs  sticking-  to  the  heft,"*  nor  of  Campbell 
for  the  "life-blood  oozing  thi'ough  the  sod."f  Juliet  is  not  hissed 
off  the  stage  for  her  anticipated  loathings  in  the  tomb  of  the 
Capulets  :  so  also  it  is  but  fair  to  judge  of  similar  passages  of  Mr. 
Curran's  oratory,  and  with  this  additional  consideration,  that  instead 
of  inventing,  he  was  but  describing  existing  facts  and  characters, 
in  portraying  which  no  language  or  illustration  could  surpass 
the  nauseous.  Before  he  had  described  the  perjured  witness  as 
emerging  from  "  those  catacombs  of  living  death,  where  the 
wretch  that  is  buried  a  inan  lies  till  his  heart  has  time  to  fester 
and  dissolve,  and  is  then  dug  up  an  f«/o?-mer,"  he  had  day  after 
day  seen  those  horrid  apparitions  stalk  upon  the  public  table,  and 
he  had  himself  been  almost  scared  from  his  duty  by  the  frightful 
glarings  with  which  they  would  have  converted  the  general  exe- 
cration into  general  dread,  into  the  undissembled  homage  of  defe- 
rential horror.  J 

A  more  sustainable  objection  to  his  style  is  the  exuberance  and 
occasional  exti'avagance  of  his  imagery.  It  would  be  no  defence 
of  him  to  say  that  he  could  not  avoid  it ;  that  in  the  ardour  of 
extemporaneous  creation,  his  mind  frequently  lost  all  authority  over 
its  associations.  It  was,  indeed,  the  fact,  thnt  his  imagination  did 
often  tyrannize  over  his  other  faculties,  and  that  many  wayward  ideas 
were  precipitated  into  existence  by  the  still  pressing  throng  that 

*  Tarn  O'Shanter.  t  O'Connor's  child. 

J  "  I  have  been  eighteen  years  at  this  bar,  and  never  until  this  year  (1794)  have  I  seen 
such  witnesses  supporting  charges  of  this  kind  with  such  abandoned  profligacy.  In  one 
case  where  men  were  on  th?ir  trial  for  their  lives,  I  felt  myself  involuntarily  shrinking 
under  your  lordship's  protection  from  the  miscreant  who  leaped  upon  the  table  and  an- 
nounced himself  a  witness.  I  was  trusting  in  God,  that  these  strange  exhibitions  would 
be  confined  to  the  remote  parts  of  the  country.  I  was  astonished  to  see  them  parading 
through  the  capital;  but  I  feel  that  the  night  of  unenlightened  wretchedness  is  fast  approach- 
ing, when  a  man  shall  be  judged  before  he  is.  tried — when  the  advocate  shall  be  libelled 
for  performing  his  duty  to  his  client,  that  right  of  human  nature — when  the  victim  shall 
be  hunted  down,  not  because  he  is  criminal,  but  because  he  is  obnoxious." — Mr.  <7w- 
rarCa  Defence  of  Dr.  Di'ennan,\1^i. 


HIS   DESULTORY   PREPARATION.  473 

f<<llo\ved  before  his  taste  had  time  to  suppress  or  adorn  them.  This 
defect  was  perhaps  in  some  degree  organic ;  perhaps  discipline 
and  caution  mio-ht  have  corrected  it ;  but  unless  he  had  altoo-ether 
changed  his  modes  of  intellectual  exercise,  it  could  scarcely  be 
expected  that  any  care  could  have  entirely  removed  it. 

The  dangers  of  offending  against  good  taste  depend  in  a  great 
measure  upon  the  class  of  the  mental  powers  that  are  employed. 
They  who  confine  themselves  to  the  exercise  of  those  of  reasoning, 
may  continue  from  day  to  day  to  give  extemporaneous  utterance  to 
every  idea ;  and  though  they  fail  in  their  logic  with  every  breath, 
piay  still  avoid  the  smallest  violation  of  good  taste.  But  when  the 
mind  ascends  to  subjects  of  invention  and  imagination,  there  is  no 
longer  this  security.  Where  is  the  poet,  the  most  intuitively  cor- 
rect, who  does  not  reject  much  which  at  first  had  pleased ;  whose 
mind  has  not  been  even  incommoded  by  the  intrusion  of  many  fan- 
tastic combinations,  which  instead  of  venturing  to  express  in  lan- 
guage, he  crushes  at  the  moment  of  their  birth  ?  And  it  is  only 
by  exercising  this  right  over  the  children  of  its  fancy,  by  condemn- 
ing the  defoiTued  to  an  early  death,  that  of  those  who  are  permit- 
ted to  sur\ive,  none  are  without  beauty  and  proportion.  Tlie  ora- 
tor who  in  the  same  way  aspires  to  create,  and  who,  like  Mr.  Cur- 
ran,  defers  the  work  till  he  is  excited  by  the  presence  of  a  pub- 
lic audience,  has  to  encounter  all  the  dangers  of  the  ^^oet,  without 
enjoying  his  privileges.  The  same  fervour  and  impetuosity  tliat 
lead  to  felicity,  will  often  hur  y  him  into  extravagance :  the 
latter,  once  produced,  cannot  be  recalled — he  has  no  leisure  to 
soften,  and  mould,  and  reconcile ;  and  hence  conceptions,  Avhich 
in  his  cooler  moments  he  would  have  suppressed,  or  have 
rendered  worthy  of  himself,  remain  irrevocably  accusers  of  his 
taste. 

But  perhaps  this  subject  will  be  most  readily  explained,  by  ad- 
verting to  Mr.  Curran's  habits  of  preparation  for  public  speaking. 
From  the  first  experiment  of  his  talents,  in  London,  till  he  had  at- 
tained some  eminence  at  the  bar,  he  never  composed  his  speeches 


474  .  tlFE   OF   CtJRRAlSr. 

for  the  i^urpose  of  delivering  them  from  memory ;  but  both  at  the 
debating  societies,  and  during  his  early  years  at  the  bar,  he  used 
to  assist  his  mind  by  ample  notes  up  jn  the  questions  to  which  he 
had  to  speak.  When  his  reputation  rose,  he  for  a  while  adopted 
the  former  method  ;  but  such  written  attempts  having  proved  com- 
paratively stift'  and  cold,  and  in  every  way  greatly  inferior  to  his 
more  extemporaneous  effusions,  his  own  judgment,  and  the  advice 
of  his  friends,  induced  him  for  ever  to  abandon  that  plan,  and  ad- 
here to  the  one  more  suited  to  the  habits  and  character  of  his 
mind. 

There  was  something  peculiar  and  desultory  in  his  manner  of 
considering  the  important  questions  that  lie  had  to  meet.  He  very 
rarely  retired  formally  to  his  closet :  it  was  as  he  walked  in  the 
hall  of  the  courts,  or  as  he  rode  between  Dublin  and  his  country 
seat,  or  durino-  his  evenin<x  strolls  through  his  own  afrounds  *  that 

*0n  letting  his  beautiful  and  tasty  residence  in  the  county  of  Cork,  which  was  distant 
from  the  lakes  of  Killarney  but  one  short  day's  journey,  he  became  the  purchaser  of  a 
country-seat  near  Rathfarnham,  on   the  slope  of  those  delightful  hills  hanging  over  the 
Marquis  of  Ely's  demesne.     The  scenery  before  the  windows  is  of  interminable  expanse, 
and  commanding  one  of  the  richest  and  best  dressed  landscapes  in  Ireland,  including  the 
Bay  of  Dublin,  the  ships,  the  opposite  hill  of  Howth,  the  pier,  the  light-house,  and  a  long 
stretch  of  the  county  of  Dublin  ;  on  the  eastern  side  May-puss  Craggs  and  obelisks,  and  a 
long  range  of  hills.     The  house  is  plain,  but  substantial,  and  the  grounds  peculiarly  well 
laid  out,  and  neatly  kept ;  sheltered  to  the  south  by  a  bridge  of  mountains ;  and  though  its 
elevation  is  considerable  and  commanding,  it  is  relatively  a  plain  or   flattening  on  the 
mountain's  side;  its  prospects  are  delightful.    It  was,  as  he  said,  a  toilette,  at  which  one 
might  dress  and  shave  for  eternity.     Situated  about  four  miles  from  Dublin,  and  a  sort  of 
centre  beiween  the  seats  of  his  friend  Mr.  Q-  iftan  in  the  county  of  Wicklow,  and  the  late 
Mr.  George  Ponsonby  in  the  county  of  Kildare,  and  about  eight  miles  from  each.    The 
country  surrounding  it  is  enchanting,  and  the  neighbourhood  populous  and  good.     Within 
the  short  distance  of  two  miles  on  the  city  side;  v.  as  Lord  Avonmore's  seat  of  Fortfield, 
the  residence  of  the  present  Master  of  the  Rolls,  Sir  William  M'Mahon.     The  houses  of 
many  other  gentlemen  of  his   friendship  and  of  his  profession  were  thickly  crowded 
round  him.     Here  it  was  he  chose  to  pass  in  study,  or  in  society,  those  hours  wliich  were 
not  devoted  to  business  ;  and  here  he  generally  entertained  his  friends.     He  brought  no- 
thing from  his  former  country  residence  but  its  name  (the  Priory).     His  table  was  frugal ; 
plain,  yet  comfortable  ;  but  his  wines  were  the  best  and  choicest,  in  which  he  did  not 
generally  more  indulge,  than  in  the  ordinary  manner  of  a  gentleman.    His  deviations 
ft-om  sobriety  were  not  frequent,  and  made  but  exceptions  to  his  usual  habits  of  temper- 
ance.    Here  it  was,  lilie  Achilles  in  his  tent,  he  delighted  his  heart  with  his  harp;  the  vio- 
loncello was  his  instrument,  and  from  this  he  did  not  desire  reputation  for  skill  in  that  tie- 


EXTEMTORA.NEOLfS    ELOQCTENCE:,  475 

he  meditated  his  subjects.  Sometimes  as  lie  lay  in  bed,  he  had 
(like  Rousseau,!  and  with  a  more  fortunate  memory)  creative  visita- 
tions, which  he  often  declared  were  to  him  more  delightful  than 
repose.  One  of  his  most  usual  and  favourite  times  of  meditation, 
was  when  he  had  his  violin  or  violoncello  in  his  hand  :  he  would 
thus  forget  hijnself  for  hours,  running  voluntaries  over  the  strings, 
or  executing  some  trivial  air,  while  his  iniiigination  w-as  far  away, 
collecting  its  forces  for  the  coming  emei'gency. 

Many  of  his  finest  passages  were  extemporaneous  bursts,  but  many 
were  thus  prepared.  It  is,  hoAvever,  worth  observing,  that  he  seldom 
committed    them  verbally   to   memory.      He    contemplated    the 


Hghtful  art.  He  sought  no  more  than  to  fee!  the  pleasure  it  imparted  ;  nor  am  I  apprised 
that  he  ever  aspired  to  the  glnry  of  exhibiting  even  at  a  concert.  An  Irisli  giant  used  to 
come  from  the  mountains  to  play  upon  it,  and  said  it  was  the  biggest  fiddle  he  ever  met; 
but  that  it  was  very  awkw,ird  with  but  three  strings,  for  so  he  sometimes  found  it.  Here 
also  it  was  that  he  composed  much  more  than  as  yet  has  met  the  eye.  Still  it  may  be 
hoped,  that  a  criticism  of  Milton's  Paradise  Lost  may  survive  the  wreck  of  works  which  a 
fastidious  and  refined  taste  may  have  too  rapidly  condemned.  Leisure  and  revision  may 
give  a  finish  which  may  not  satisfy  himself,  yet  the  efforts  of  such  a  mind,  however  care- 
lessly flung  off,  must  always  be  gratifying  to  curiosity.  At  his  dinners  two  peculiarities 
appeared  :  one  constantly,  that  of  having  dinner  served  to  tlic  minute  of  five  o'clock. 
This  was  frequently  inconvenient  to  others,  but  as  he  defini.d  a  good  dinner  to  be  two 
dishes  and  fife  o'clock,  it  sometimes  occurred,  that  Uiere  were  no  other  terms  to  be  inclu- 
ded in  this  definition,  lie  drank  a  few  glasses  of  port  at  dinner,  "  to  keep,"  as  he  said, 
"  the  wet  of  tlie  claret  out  of  his  stomach."  The  second  peculiarity  was,  that  you  fre- 
quently met  at  his  table  persons  seldom  undistinguished,  though  often  unknown  to  each 
other.  And  in  this  he  often  resembled  his  friend  John  HorneTooke,  who  at  his  feasts  at 
Wimbledon  had  persons  of  all  tongues,  nations,  characters,  and  qualities.  His  own  habits 
Were  plain  and  frugal,  Uiough  the  pomp  and  parade  of  good  living  did  not  appal  him.  He 
sustained  through  life  a  preference  of  the  comforts  to  the  luxuries  of  the  table.  Liqupun 
being  served  after  dinner,  noyeau,  persico,  and  everything  recherche  ;  malmsey,  .Madeira, 
hock,  Ac,  Mr.  Curran  being  asked  which  he  would  prefer,  seized  a  bottle  of  the  latter, 
and  said,  "  Hoc  erat  in  votis.  A  young  gentleman  who  sat  near  him  observed  that  the 
liqneura  were  much  better,  and  importunately  recommended  persico,  adding  that  he  who 
was  fond  of  the  Medea,  should  love  tlie  Persians  also:  to  which  Mr.  Curran  instantly  re- 
plied, Persicos  o<Ji piter. — O'Kkq.^n. 

*"  Je  medltois  dans  mon  lira  yeux  fermes,  et  je  tournois  et  retournois  dans  ma  (ele 
mes  periodesavecdes  peines  incroyables;  puis  quand  j'etois  parvenu  a  en  etre  content, 
je  les  deposois  dans  ma  memoire,  jusqu'a  ce  que  jepusse  les  mettre  sur  le  papier  ;  mais  le 
temps  de  me  lever  et  de  m'liabiller  nie  faisoit  lout  perdre,  et  quand  je  m'etois  mis  a  mon 
papier,  il  ne  me  venoit  prcsque  plus  rien  de  ce  que  j'avois  compose."— (,'o;i/&«Sto»8  di 
Boiaaeau. 


4:76  LIFE    OF   OUKEAN. 

topics  and  images  until  he  had  secured  them  beyond  the  danger  of 
escape,  and  when  the  occasion  came,  and  the  same  train  of  asso- 
ciations was  revived,  his  mind  not  so  much  recollected,  as  repeated 
anew  the  operations  by  which  it  had  originally  created.  He  had 
not  the  words  of  a  single  sentencw  by  heart ;  he  had  the  leading 
ideas,  and  trusted  to  their  reappearance  to  recall  the  same  diction 
and  imagery  which  had  been  suggested  at  the  first  interview.  But 
it  almost  invariably  happened  that  his  own  expectations  were  far 
exceeded,  and  that  when  his  mind  came  to  be  more  intensely  heat- 
ed by  his  sul)ject,  and  by  that  inspiring  confidence  which  a  public 
audience  seldom  fails  to  infuse  into  all  who  are  sufficiently  gifted 
to  receive  it,  a  multitude  of  new  ideas,  adding  vigour  or  ornament, 
were  given  ofl';  and  it  also  happened,  that  in  the  same  prolific  mo- 
ments, and  as  almost  their  inevitable  consequence,  some  crude  and 
'  fantastic  notions  escaped ;  which,  if  they  impeached  their  author's 
taste,  at  least  leave  him  the  merit  of  a  splendid  feult  which  none 
but  men  of  genius  can  commit. 

This  was  the  account  that  he  sfave  of  his  own  intellectual 
habits,  which  he  recommended  to  the  imitation  of  all  who  aspired 
to  excel  in  oratory ;  for  according  to  his  idea  of  popular ' 
eloquence,  a  facility  of  extemporaneous  creation  and  ari-angement, 
and  of  adapting  and  modifying  according  to  the  occasion,  the  pro- 
duce of  pre\nous  meditation,  was  indispensable :  without  it  a 
person  might  be  an  elegant  composer,  and  a  skilful  reciter  and 
actor,  but  being  necessarily  at  the  mercy  of  every  unforeseen  con- 
tingency, could  never  be  an  orator.  The  practice  of  writing 
speeches  and  delivering  them  from  memory,  he  strongly  repro- 
bated ;  he  considered  that  it  not  only  cut  ofi"  the  speaker  froni  the 
benefit  of  those  accidental  bursts  which  so  often  turn  the  fortune 
of  the  day,  and  for  which  no  anticipating  .sagacity  can  provide ; 
but  that  when  exclusively  persevered  in  for  any  time,  it  directly 
tended  to  debilitate  his  mind ;  that  instead  of  habituating  him  to 
a  manly  confidence  in  his  own  resources,  and  to  that  generous 
surrender  of  himself  to  the  enthusiasm  of  the  moment,  which  can 


EXTEMPORE    SPEAKING.  477 

almost  impart  the  gift  of  miracles  to  those  who  put  their  faith  in 
it.  and  which,  even  where  it  leads  astray,  will  carry  away  the 
audience  in  its  train,  it  generated  a  noxious  taste  for  verbal  finery 
— for  epigram,  antithesis,  and  inanimate  declamation ;  and  aloiip- 
with  this,  a  pusillanimous  and  irrecoverable  apprehension  of  failing 
to  be  correct,  so  destructive  of  that  spirit  of  adventure,  and  occa- 
sionally heedless  intrepidity,  without  which  there  is  no  plunging 
into  the  deeper  recesses  of  human  passions.  So  strongly  v/m  he 
impressed  witli  the  opinion  that  real  eloquence  demanded  the 
fullest  measure  of  extemporaneous  ardour  and  ability,  that  when, 
about  a  year  before  his  death,  he  was  urgently  solicited  to  address 
a  juiy  in  defence  of  a  friend  against  whom  an  action  for  a  liboi 
was  depending,  he  could  not  bring  liimself  to  comply  with  the 
request,  however  honourable  and  complimentary  ;*  assigning  as 
one  of  his  reasons,  his  suspicion  that  after  a  desuetude  of  ten  years, 
added  to  the  more  temperate  and  hesitating  views  which  his 
judicial  functions  during  that  period  had  imposed,  his  mind  might 
have  become  too  rigid  to  yield  to  all  the  impulses  of  popular 
emotion  with  the  same  prompt  and  fortunate  reliance  which  had 
secured  the  triumphs  of  his  younger  days.f 

He  was  unaffectedly  communicative  to  his  young  friends   of 
the  bar  who  consulted  him  on  these  subjects.^      Amongst  other 

*  To  have  done  so  would  have  been  a  violation  of  all  professional  precedent.  In 
Great  Britain  and  Ireland,  a  man  who  has  once  occupied  the  Bench  neve)'  returns  to 
the  Bar.— M. 

t  One  of  Mr.  Curran's  greatest  and  lonjcest  eOorts  was  his  defence  of  Mr.  Hamilton 
Rowan.  The  following  is  a  copy  of  the  notes  frgm  which  he  spoke  upon  that  occasion, 
and  their  small  number  will  show  his  dependence  upon  his  own  mind,  without  much 
mechanical  aid. 

"  To  arms  — 2°.  Reform — 3°.  Catholic  emnncip. — 4°.  Convention — now  unlawful— 
Consoiiuence  of  conviction — Trials  before  revolution — Drowned — Lambert — Muir — 
Character  of  R. — furnace,  &c. — Rebellion  smothered  stalks — Redeeming  spirit." — C. 

i  O'Reg.-n  says,  "  For  the  many  years  of  hia  practice  in  the  hall,  his  wit  made  an 
sera  ;  there  went  by  no  day  that  did  not  furnish  something  new  from  him.  The  young 
and  old  of  the  bar  were  so  fascinated  with  his  efl'usions,  that  they  got  rapid  circulation  ; 
they  were  echoed  throu;,'h  the  courts,  and  did,  like  sound,  prnpajrate  Uiemselves  in  every 
direction.  You  had  tliem  in  the  streets,  and  at  the  table;  they  were  as  certainly  sup- 
plied, and  made  as  necessary  apart  of  the  eutertaiuuieui,  as  the  wine  ;  they  travelled 


478  LIFE   OF   CDRKAlir. 

particulars,  lie  used  to  tell  them,  that  the  peculiarities  of  his  owii 
person  had  had  an  influence  in  forming  his  style  of  public  speak- 
ing. Ue  was  conscious  that  it  wanted  dignity  and  grace,  and  in 
the  apprehension  that  vehemence  might  expose  him  to  ridicule,  he 
originally  proposed  to  himself  to  become  persuasive  by  a  mild, 
expostulatoiy  manner  ;  but  when  he  formed  this  resolution  he  was 
unaware  of  his  own  resources ;  his  genius,  as  soon  as  exasperated 
into  an  exertion  of  its  force,  prevailed  over  all  the  suggestions  of 
modest  precaution.  Still  it  may  be  observed  in  almost  all  his 
speeches,  that  the  first  propensity  is  perpetually  declaring  itself; 
that  in  the  midst  of  all  his  arguments,  and  impetuosity,  and 
iuvective,  he  never  forgets  to  implore. 

But  independent  of  any  study  and  design  upon  his  part,  it 
was  here  that  he  was  by  nature  pre-eminently  qualified  to  succeed. 
.His  s[ieoches  upon  political  subjects  contain  many  affecting  speci- 
mens of  bis  pathetic  powers;  but  it  was  in  questions  confined  to 
individual  interests,  where  the  domestic  or  social  relations  had 
been  abused,  that  he  exhibited  the  entire  extent  of  his  command 
over  all  the  softer  emotions  of  the  human  breast.  For  the  secret 
of  this  power  he  was  little  indebted  to  btioks,  or  to  the  artifices  of 
rhetoric.  Its  source  was  in  his  habitually  mtense  sensibility  to  the 
affecting  scenes  of  real  life,  moi-e  jieculiarly  to  those  of  domestic 
happiness  or  aftection,  as  he  witnessed  them  in  their  most  natural 
and  tender  forms,  among  th'^se  humble  classes  with  which  his 
original  condition  had  first  familiarised  him.  While  yet  a  boy  he 
caught  an  inspiration  of  the  plaintive  genius  of  his  country,  where, 
after  all,  the  national  rtnius  prefers  to  dwell — beneath  the 
peasant's  roof.  According  tc  his  own  account,  it  was  in  the  Irish 
cabin  that  he  first  learned  to  weep  for  others.  He  found  there, 
what  all  who  stoop  to  enter  may  find,  the  rude  elements  of  the 


■with  you  into  the  country  ;  they  were  domssticated  everywhere  ;  they  pleased  youth  and 
delighted  old  age.  When  he  left  the  practice  of  his  profession,  he  did  not  leave  the  hall. 
He  frequently  descended  from  the  bench,  inl  distracted  in  groups  of  admirers  Uis  over 
active  and  over  ardent  mind," — M. 


PASSIONATE   OEATORT.  479 

finest  and  softest  affections.  It  was  there  that  his  young  fancy, 
powerfully  impressed  with  tlie  living  spectacle  of  all  those  homely 
but  vigorous  movements  of  undisguised  nature  which  touch  the 
heart  the  most,  unconsciously  prepared  itself  for  those  pathetic 
descriptions  at  which  future  assemblies  were  to  melt :  and  when 
tlie  occasion  came  of  calling  upon  his  hearers  for  their  sympathy, 
he  had  only  to  present  to  their  imagination  some  of  those  pictures 
of  tenderness  or  distress  over  which  he  had  so  often  wept  himself. 

llis  pathos,  however,  was  not  confined  to  such  delineations ; 
much  of  its  influence  depends  upon  the  solemn  associations  which 
it  j'aises,  upon  its  alliance  with  emotions  of  a  higher  order  than 
indiridual  suflering  can  produce.  The  pangs  of  a  single  victim 
may  appeal  most  forcibly  to  our  pit}-,  but  the  more  intense  the 
feeling,  the  more  it  is  in  danger  of  failing  in  dignity.  One  of  the 
cliarms  of  Mr.  Curran's  pathos  is,  that  it  is  so  often  connected  witli 
patriotic  sorrow,  or  with  more  extensive  and  enlightened  regi-ets 
fur  tlie  genei'al  fate  of  nations.  He  represents  the  great  pi-inciples 
of  freedom  as  outraged  and  depressed,  and  deplores  their  fall ;  but 
we  are  perpetually  reminded  that  they  deserved  a  nobler  destiny, 
and  are  made  to  feel  the  same  sentiment  of  e.xaltod  melancholy, 
with  which  we  would  bend  over  the  gi'ave  of  one  ol'  the  illustrious 
dead.  We  may  lament  the  loss  as  irretrievable,  but  in  the  utmost 
e.xtremity  of  our  grief,  we  are  elevated  by  the  cousL-iousuess  that 
we  bear  an  honourable  testimony  to  our  o\\  n  sensibility  to  departed 
worth. 

But  it  was  not  only  by  successful  appeals  to  any  single  passion 
that  he  surpassed  every  forensic  speaker  of  his  countiy;  the  won- 
der that  he  ex<;ited  was  owing  to  the  rapidity  of  his  transitions 
from  passion  to  })assion,  from  the  deepest  emotions  that  agitate 
the  soul  up  to  the  Hveliest  combinations  of  a  playful  imagination. 
And  yet  this,  the  most  extraordinary  and  distingui>;hing  of  his 
powers,  can  never  be  fully  comprehended  by  those  who  know  him 
only  through  his  graver  and  recorded  efibrts.  It  is  upon  the  lat- 
ter that  his  general  and  lasting  fame    uust  now  depend ;  but  Id 


480  LIFE    OF    CIIKRA.N. 

Ireland,  while  any  of  liis  cotemporaries  who  heard  him  survive, 
and  perhaps  long-  after  they  all  shall  have  followed  him  to  the 
grave,  his  name  will  enjoy  a  peculiar  and  scarcely  less  brilliant 
reputation  in  the  traditional  accounts  of  the  numberless  unpre- 
meditated and  magical  effusions  that  have  been  no  otherwise 
preserved ;  and  which  in  the  estimation  of  his  admiring  hearers 
would  alone  have  rendered  him  the  ornament  and  boast  of  the 
Irish  bar.  For  more  than  twenty  years  those  astonishingly  varied 
talents,  upon  which  the  critic  may  now  fear  to  pass  too  unqualiiied 
an  encomium,  converted  the  Irish  courts  of  justice  into  a  theatre 
of  popular  recreation,  whither  day  after  day  the  multitude  delighted 
to  flock  to  behold  the  orator  in  whom  they  gloried,  going,  in  the 
apace  of  a  few  moments,  his  rounds  of  the  human  passions  and 
the  human  faculties;  alternately  sublime,  indignant,  sarcastic, 
subtle,  playful,  pathetic. 

This  extreme  versatility,  if  Mr.  Curran  be  contemplated  as  a 
model,  may  be  deemed  a  defect,  but  for  every  practical  purpose 
its  success  was  so  decided  as  to  justify  his  adopting  it.  Had  his 
elo(|ueri(_-e  been  more  scholastic,  had  every  topic  of  persuasion 
been  =(!lccted  with  an  eye  to  rhetorical  observances,  lie  would  have 
eatjapod  some  literary  I'eproaches,  but  he  would  have  gained  fewer 
triumphs.  The  jiuios  among  whom  he  was  thrown,  and  for  whom 
lie  oriuiiiHlly  formed  his  style,  were  not  fastidious  critics;  they 
wore  mui-e  usually  men  abounding  in  rude  unpolished  sympathies, 
and  who  were  reaily  to  surrender  the  treasure,  of  which  they 
scarcely  knew  the  value,  to  him  that  offered  them  the  most 
alluring  toys.  Whatever  might  have  been  his  own  better  taste,  as 
an  advocate  he  soon  discovered,  that  the  surest  way- to  persuade 
was  to  conciliate  by  amusing  them.  ^Yith  them  he  found  that 
his  imnii-ination  might  revel  unrestrnincd ;  that,  when  once  tlie 
work  of  intoxication  was  begun,  every  v/ayward  fancy  and  wild 
expression  was  as  acce])table  and  effectual  as  the  most  refined  wit ; 
and  that  the  favour  which  they  would  have  refused  to  the  unatr 
tractive  reasoner  or  to  the  too  distant  and  formal  orator,  they  had 


IMAamATiVE   FACtlLTY".  481 

not  the  firmness  to  witlibold,  when  solicited  witli  tlie  gay  per- 
suasive familiarity  of  a  companion.  These  careless  or  licentious 
habits,  encouraged  by  early  applause  and  victory,  were  never 
thrown  aside,  and  we  can  observe  in  almost  all  his  productions,  no 
matter  how  august  the  audience,  or  how  solemn  the  occasion,  that 
his  mind  is  perpetually  relapsing  into  its  primitive  indulgences. 

But  whatever  judgment  may  now  be  passed  upon  those  wander- 
ings of  fancy  by  which  those  Avho  were  actually  allured  away  were 
too  charmed  to  utter  a  reproach,  it  is  impossible  to  withhold  our 
admiration  of  those  mental  qualities  in  which  the  beauties  and 
imj)erfections  of  Mr.  Curran's  eloquence  had  equally  their  origin. 
They  both  originated  in  that  intense  activity  of  the  imaginative 
faculty  which  was  the  predominant  characteristic  of  his  mind.  It 
was  in  the  excee<ling  richness  of  this,  that  consisted  the  essential 
distinctive  originality  of  his  style.  It  was  not  that  his  reasonings 
were  subtle,  his  topics  imposing,  or  his  periods  flowing;  all  of  those 
may  be  ':)un(l  in  others;  but  that  what  he  passionately  conceived, 
he  could  convey  in  passion's  proper  idiom  ;  that  his  n.ird  had 
familiar  access  to  a  world  of  s})lendid  and  vigorous  illustration, 
whence  it  c<juld  select  at  pleasure  the  clothing  that  might  best 
adorn,  or  ennoble  every  favourite  idea;  it  was  that  nature,  in  the 
profuseness  of  hei-  bounty,  "tilling  even  to  overflowing,"  had  ''o'er 
informed "  him  with  that  supplemental  poetic  sense,  which,  dis- 
daining to  recognise  in  objects  their  homely  realities,  is  for  ever 
delighting  to  invest  them  with  attributes  not  their  own,  raising 
what  is  low,  animating  what  is  cold,  veiling  what  is  deformed,  or 
again  fearlessly  tearing  away  the  veil  whei-e  some  high  moi-al  pur- 
pose demands  that  the  deformity  beneath  should  be  exposed  and 
exaggerated,  and  thus  by  the  agency  of  its  own  creations,  imjiait- 
ing  to  what  the  vulgar  eye  might  view  with  most  indillerence, 
imagined  charms  or  visionary  Imi'ior. 

The  images  in  which  Mr.  Curran  excelled  were  not  of  that  order 
which  it  requires,  but  a  simple  process  of  intellect,  unconnected 
with  mutdi  mental  or  physical  emotion  to  produce.     There  are 

2) 


4:82  LITE   OF   CURRAN. 

some  cultivated  minds,  to  wlxicli  so  much  varied  knc  vledge  is  at 
all  times  present,  that  whatever  be  tlie  subject  of  their  thoughts, 
innumerable  resemblances  force  themselves  upon  them,  rendering 
them  profusely  figurative,  but  evidently  without  for  a  moment 
disturbing  their  tranquillity.  But  the  Irish  advocate's  finest  con- 
ceptions were  the  growth  of  the  deepest  sensibility.  In  his 
pathetic  and  descriptive  bursts,  so  impressively  did  his  language 
communicate  to  others  the  full  extent  of  his  emotions,  that  it 
might  be  said  of  him  that  at  such  moments  he  "felt  aloud;"  that 
his  words  were  but  the  audible  throbbings  of  his  bosom  labouring 
to  vent  itself  in  rapid,  irregular,  and  abrupt  gushes  from  the  excess 
of  feeling  that  oppressed  it. 

In  producing  this  electric  sympathy  bet\yeen  the  orator  and  his 
audience,  there  was  something  more  than  art  can  teach  or  than 
nature  gives  to  many.  Its  original  source  was  in  hia  heart  and 
spirit  as  much  as  in  his  talents;  in  his  unciompromising  and  impas- 
sioned identification  of  himself  with  his  subjects;  in  that  chival- 
i-ous  devotion  to  whatever  principle  he  espoused,  which  impelle<I 
him  boldly  to  defy  and  silence  its  adversaries,  by  the  proud  tender 
of  his  own  individual  responsibility  for  its  truth  and  honour.  In 
this,  there  was  much  that  belonged  to  the  man,  no  less  than  to 
the  a<.lvocate — nuich  of  previous  character — of  personal  and  men- 
tal intrepidity — of  profound  moral  sensibility,  and  its  companion, 
.noral  pride,  upon  all  the  great  questions  of  human  rights  and 
Dbligations.  It  was  this  extreme  sensibility,  combined  (if  not 
j^self  occasioned  by)  a  superior  intellect,  that  filled  Mr.  Curran's 
style  with  so  much  bold  and  vivid  imagery.  For  it  would  be 
most  unjust  to  attribute  to  him  any  deficiency  of  logical  powers, 
because  he  so  frequently  supported  the  cause  of  freedom  and 
morals,  by  sentiment  and  imagina.ion.  The  very  reverse  was  the 
fact.  Of  the  dignity  and  importance  of  that  cause,  every  sound 
understanding  which  reflects  upon  ^t  is  convinced;  but  there  is  a 
degree  of  intense  conviction,  known  only  to  a  few  privileged 
minds,  whose  conclusions,  instead  of  being  the  result  of  cold  and 


HIS   EAKNESTNESS.  483 

wary  deduction,  flash  upon  them  at  once  with  all  tlie  light  and 
warmth  of  instincts ;  and  the  consequence  of  this  rapid  perception 
is,  that  they  either  neglect  or  will  not  submit  to  a  formal  demon- 
stration of  what  they  have  themselves  thus  intuitively  acquired, 
or  that  assuming  the  truth  to  be  equally  evident  to  all,  they  think 
not  so  much  of  proving  as  of  enforcing  it  by  imposing  illustration, 
and  by  addressing  their  hearers'  imagination  and  passions,  in 
order  to  kindle  in  them  the  coui-age  or  the  shame,  without  which, 
in  defiance  of  their  conviction,  the  truth  may  be  sacrificed  to  their 
fears  or  interests.  This  was  constantly  Mr.  Curran's  great  object, 
and  it  was  in  efiecting  it  that  so  much  of  his  extraordinary  power 
lay.  Few  speakers  ever  possessed  such  despotic  controul  over  the 
honest  passions  of  their  audience,  for  few  ever  so  unhesitatingly 
surrendered  themselves  to  the  inspiration  of  their  own.  lie  had 
the  ti'ue  popular  lemperament;  fere  was  no  cold  philosophic 
tranquillitv  about  him,  but  all  was  life  and  action.  His  thoughts, 
style,  and  manner,  "had  certain  vital  signs."  He  was  all  his  life 
contending  for  a  cause,  and  he  did  it  with  no  "half-faced  fellow- 
ship;" he  loved  it  "not  wi.sely  but  too  well,"  and  not  the  less 
because  it  wanted  friends.  His  cause  was  his  religion,  to  which 
he  adhered,  under  what  he  considered  its  persecution,  w  itli  all  the 
confiding,  "des]>erate  fidelity"  of  a  martyr;  and  though  his  zeal 
might  to  many  appear  mistaken,  still  it  was  zeal,  real,  disinterest",d 
and  fervent,  affecting  from  its  sincerity  even  where  its  tendency 
was  least  approved,  and  not  uufrequently  communicating  its  flame 
by  surprise  to  tliose  who  were  most  active  in  extinguishing  it. 
At  the  period  of  those  displays  to  which  these  observations  more 
particularly  refer,  the  times  were  "too  deeply  commoved"  for 
affectation ;  his  audiences  saw  and  knew  that  he  had  none ;  his 
very  irregularities  proved  it.  He  was  not  for  ever  reminding  them 
that  he  was  an  orator;  he  had,  not  the  art,  but  what  was  above 
art,  the  feeling  and  manliness  to  forget  it  himself.  He  diil  not 
consider  that  he  was  only  acting  a  part  of  which  the  world  might 
hereafter  say,  that  it  was  well  or  ill  supported ;  but  that  a  gre^i 


i84      •  LIFE   OF    CUliEAN. 

constitutional  trust  had  devolved  upon  him,  of  which,  heedless  of 
the  woi'ld's  sentence  upon  his  skill  or  conduct,  he  would  rigidly 
perform  all  the  solemn  obligations.  When  midnight  after  mid- 
night* he  rose,  "  with  darkness  and  with  dangers  compassed 
round,"  not  so  much  with  the  expectation  of  averting  his  clients' 
doom,  as  to  show  that  all  the  decent  rites  of  defence  should  be 
obser\-ed,  or  to  give  utterance  to  his  own  anguish  at  his  country's 
flite,  he  took  little  thouo-ht  of  the  future  critic's  comments.  When 
"  Lis  soul  was  sick  even  unto  fainting,"  he  was  not  studying  liow 
"  the  stretun  of  agony  might  flow  decorously  down  his  brow  ;  how 
he  should  writhe  with  grace  and  groan  in  melody."  Upon  all 
those  terrible  occasions,  he  felt  himself  to  be  much  more  than  the 
advocate  of  the  mere  individuals  under  trial ;  he  had  much  to  say 
that  was  not  containe<l  in  his  insti'uctions.  However,  as  a  subject 
and  a  man,  he  niight  have  ondemned  their  projects  or  have 
bewailed  their  delusion,  he  still  considered  it  his  pai-.inount  duty, 
as  the  advocate  of  the  thousands  who  wei'e  yet  hesitating  cri;  they 
i)lunged,  and  whom  a  gleam  of  mercy  might  recall  and  save — as 
the  advocate  of  himself,  of  society,  and  of  the  last  remnant  cf 
the  constitution,  the  privilege  of  complaint — to  <liscountenance 
the  rage  of  public  accusation,  and  to  protest  in  his  own  person 
ao'ainst  the  continuance  of  those  fatal  counsels,  to  which  he  refer- 
red  so  much  of  the  disasters  that  lie  witnessed  and  predicted. 

It  is  impossible  to  read  a  page  of  his  speeches  without  observing 
how  much  the  power  depends  upon  this  impassioned  feeling ;  and 
how  strikingly  expressive  of  such  a  high  temperature  are  the  images 
that  he  employed.  Numberless  examples  might  be  given,  as  the 
descriptions  of  the  trial  and  execution  of  Orr— of  the  horrors  of 
those  distracted  times — of  the  Irish  infoi'iner — of  "  the  perjured 
0'iirien,f  a  wretch  who  would  dip  the  evangelists  in  blood" — of 
Reynolds,  "  who  measured  his  importance  by  the  coffins  of  his  vie- 

*  Several  of  his  speeches  on  the  state  trials  were  delivered  at  that  hour. — C. 
+  "  I  have  heard   of  assassination  by  sword,   by  pistol,   and   by  dagger;   but  here    is 
a  wretch  who  would  dii  (.he  evangelists  in  blood." — C. 


His   li'OKKNSIC    SFFOETS.  485 

tims,  and  appreciated  his  fame  in  the  field  of  evidence,  as  the  Indian 
warrior  did  in  ti^lit,  by  the  number  of  scalps  with  which  he  could 
swell  his  tiiumphs."  Many  of  his  images,  when  stript  of  the  im- 
posing phraseology,  are  remarkable  for  their  simplicity  and  famil- 
iarity, and  for  that  reason  came  more  home  to  the  bosoms  of  their 
hearers,  as  where  he  exclaims—"  Is  it  possible  you  can  bring 
yourselves  to  say  to  your  country,  when  the  measures  of  govei'n- 
ment  are  pregnant  with  danger,  that  at  such  a  season  the  press 
ought  to  slumber  upon  its  post,  or  sound  nothing  but  adulation  and 
praise,  acting  like  the  perfidious  watchman  on  his  round,  who  sees 
the  robber  wrenching  the  bolts,  or  the  flames  bursting  from  the  win- 
dows, while  the  inhabitant  is  wrapt  in  sleep,  and-cries  out  that  'the 
morning  is  fair  and  all  is  well  V  "  Or  where,  describing  the  extinc- 
tion of  the  press,  ho  ihus  concludes — '' Tt  is  then  that  fi'eeilniu  is  at 
its  last  grasp — it  is  then  the  honest  man  dares  not  speak,  because 
truth  is  too  dreadful  tu  be  told — it  is  then  the  proud  man  si.'orns  to 
speak,  but,  like  a  stui'dy  physician,  baffled  by  tlie  waywai-d  excesses 
of  a  dying  patient,  retires  indignantly  from  the  bed  of  an  unhappy 
wretch,  whose  ear  is  too  fastidious  to  bear  tlie  sound  of  wholesome 
advi(^e — whose  palate  is  too  debauched  to  bear  the  salutarv  bitier 
that  might  redeem*  him,  and  therefore  leaves  him  to  the  felonious 
piety  of  the  slaves  t.hat  talked  to  liini  o!'  life,  and  strip  him  betbre 
he's'cold." 

To  this  extreme  sensibflity  Mr.  CuiTa)"i  ci-iild,  for  the  mo-t  part, 
g-ive  expression  in  grave,  energetic,  and  elevated  language.  \Miero 
the  subjects  before  his  mind  were  those  of  I'ilv  or  eiilogiinn,  'M  of 
general  descripliDH,  passages  williout  nuiiil):ir  may  be  cited,  in 
wliich  the  most  fastidious  cannot  coniplaiii  that  the  dignity  is 
unsustained.  ]^)ut  when  hi;  was  called  upon,  as  he  so  often  found 
himself,  to  speak  in  terms  of  I'eprobation  ;  when  some  great  pul>Ii(; 
wrongs,  of  wliieh  lie  had  as  ipiiek  a  sense  as  of  a  personal  outrage, 
awakened  his  indignation,  in  the  nddst  ..f  more  regular  declama- 
tion, there  weie  frequent  intrusions  of  ludicrous  association,  which, 
at  first  view,  may  .seem  to  form  an  uuappropriate  contrast  witli  the 


486  LIFE   Oii'  CttKEAif. 

prevailing  solemnity  of  the  occasion.  In  the  generality  of  sucli 
instances,  however,  it  will  ajjpear,  upon  a  little  consideration,  that 
the  levity  is  in  the  language  and  not  in  the  ruling  sentiment.  Ordi- 
nary disapprobation  may  be  conveyed  in  terras  of  ordinary  and 
serious  reproach ;  but  in  ardent  natures,  whose  habit  it  is  to  ove}-- 
feel  upon  every  subject,  whether  of  praise  or  censure,  the  sense  of 
wrong,  that  in  a  common  mind  would  stop  at  comparatively  mode- 
rate indignation,  becomes  inflamed  by  their  fancy  into  feelings  of 
intense  execi'ation  quite  beyond  the  reach  of  formal  invective  to 
express.  Such  persons  are  seldom  satisfied  with  gravely  reproving 
what  they  condemn ;  it  is-  not  enough  "  to  tell  it  how  they  hate 
it;"  they  know  that  the  expression  of  their  hatred  alone  will  not 
detract  from  the  dignity  of  its  object;  that  it  is  often  but  the  im- 
potent railing  of  an  inferior.  Whethei-  it  be  a  public  or  a  private 
de]in(pient  that  they  denounce,  they  feel  tliat  they  would  be  allow- 
ing him  to  escape  almost  with  impunity,  if  they  did  not  degrade  him 
from  his  social  or  personal  ivank  down  to  the  level  of  his  oftence. 
To  hatred  they  therefore  add  bitter  ridicule ;  for  ridicule,  though 
not  the  test  of  truth,  is  the  test  of  scorn  and  contempt.  Huiiiour 
for  such  a  purpose  (and  it  was  for  this  that  Mr.  Curran  mi;>st  fre- 
quently employed  it)  is  not  levity  ;  it  has  nothing  of  the  sportiugs 
of  a  heart  at  ease,  but  its  source  is  in  the  profoundest  passion,  and 
in  that  indignant  haughtiness  peculiar  to  the  extreme  of  passion, 
which  in  its  most  violent  paroxysm  will  assume  a  proud  vindictive 
playfulness  of  exterior,  lest  the  detested  object  should  glory  in  the 
discovery  of  all  the  agitation  that  he  excites,  or  lest  it  might  be 
taken  as  a  tribute  to  his  importance  to  deem  him  worthy  of  a  frown. 
It  was  in  this  impassioned,  exaggerating  spirit,  upon  which  the 
particular  talent  of  an  advocate  so  much  depends,  that  Mr.  Curran 
approached  every  person  or  measure  that  he  had  occasion  to 
arraign  ;  whether  the  subject  of  his  sarcasm  happened  to  be  a  rival 
candidate,  "  whose  voters  might  be  seen  coming  in  like  the  beasts 
of  the  field,  in  droves,  from  their  pastures,  presenting  a  pictui-e  of 
human  nature  in  a  state  of  degradation  such  as  never  had  been 


His    CONVERSATION. 


487 


Witnessed  since  Nebuchadnezzar  was  at  grass ;"  or  an  Irish  secre- 
tary, "  regarding  wlioni  he  would  not  imitate  the  ancient  t3'rant's 
practice  of  torturing  insects  ;"  or  an  English  ministry,  "  a  motley 
group,  without  virtue,  or  character,  or  talents — the  sort  of  cabinet 
that  we  have  laughed  at  on  the  stage,  where  '  the  potent,  grave, 
and  reverend  seniors'  were  composed  of  scene-shifters  and  candle- 
snufteivs,  robed  in  old  curtains  and  wigged  from  the  stores  of  the 
theatre ;"  or  even  though  he  should  have  to  call  the  public  atten- 
tion to  "  the  princely  virtues  and  the  imperial  qualifications,  the 
consummate  wisdom  and  sagacity  of  our  steadfast  friend  and  ally, 
the  Emperor  of  all  the  Russias — a  constellation  of  all  virtue,  com- 
pared with  whose  radiance  the  Ursa  Major  but  twinkles  as  the 
glow-worm." 

Over  this,  the  most  popular,  and  when  skilfully  managed,  one 
of  the  most  eftective  modes  of  attack,  Mr.  Curran's  fancy  gave  him 
the  entire  command;  and  if  he  ever  employed  it  to  excess,  or  out 
of  place,  he  but  shared  in  the  common  failing  of  indolence  and 
facility,  that  of  preferring  as  best  what  is  found  the  most  easy  and 
most  successful.  And  here,  in  speaking  of  his  facility  in  creating 
resemblances,  whether  of  a  liumorous  or  a  more  elevated  order,  it 
is  worthy  of  I'emark,  that  the  histoiy  of  his  mind,  in  this  respect, 
strono-ly  fevoui's  the  opinion  that  the  powers  of  the  imagination 
are  as  capable  of  improvement  from  cultivation  as  any  other  of 
the  mental  faculties.  In  Mr.  Curran  these  powers  were  strikingly 
progressive ;  in  his  earlier  attempts  there  is  little  of  the  usual 
exuberance  of  a  juvenile  imagination  ;  they  are,  on  the  contrary, 
compared  witli  his  subsequent  compositions,  cold  and  prosaic,  and, 
wlien  considered  as  specimens  of  fancy,  unworthy  of  the  mind  that 
produced  them.  The  same  remark  applies  to  his  conversation. 
It  was  by  his  conversalion  that  he  first  attracted  notice;  but,  how- 
ever delip-htful  in  othci'  respects,  it  was  tor  a  long  time  unillumi- 
nated  by  those  gleams  of  poetic  conception,  which  in  his  maturer 
years  were  incessantly  bursting  forth.  The  fact  was  (and  in  this  his 
mind  was  peculiar)  that  his  imagination  developed  itself  with  such 


488  LITE   OF   CUEEAIT. 

extreme  slowness,  that  it  was  not  till  he  had  been  for  some  years 
a  candidate  foi-  public  distinction  that  he  became  aware  of  the 
particular  powers  that  were  to  secure  his  success.  The  conscious- 
ness of  them  came  gradually,  and  was,  as  it  were,  forced  upon  him 
by  the  uulooked  for  effect  of  accidental  and  unpremeditated 
efforts:  but  becoming  at  length  assured  of  the  secret  of  his 
strength,  his  confidence,  ambition,  and  industry  were  excited,  and 
lie  then,  almost  for  the  first  time,  began  formally  and  assiduously 
to  encoui'age,  both  in  public  and  private,  those  habits  of  imagina- 
tive creation,  which  were  subsequently  to  form  the  prominent 
character  of  his  mind.  The  consequence  of  thus  keeping  his 
imagination  in  perpetual  exercise  was  most  conspicuous,  and  as  a 
mere  metaphysical  fact  is  not  incurious  or  unimportant.  So  great 
was  the  facility  and  the  fertility  which  it  produced,  that,  in  his 
later  years,  scarcely  an  idea  presented  itself  which  did  not  come 
accompanied  by  some  illustrative  image.  It  was  by  the  image 
that  he  generally  preferred  to  express  the  idea,  and  accordingly 
his  ordinary  conversation,  where  he  indulged  in  this  propensity 
with  the  least  reserve,  presented  such  a  series  of  original  and 
apparently  unlaboured  illustrations,  that  he  might  almost  be  said 
to  have  habitually  thought  in  metaphors. 

Mr.  Curran's  speeches  are  generally  referred  to  as  instances  of 
what  is  now  denominated  the  Irish  school  of  eloquence,  the  distin- 
guishing quality  of  which  is  said  to  be  the  predominance  of  pas- 
sion and  imao-ination  over  solid  argument.  The  correctness  of 
this  definition  is  questionable.  It  is  true  that  the  eminent  persons 
who  have  employed  this  style  perpetually  express  their  thoughts 
in  iinpiissioned  and  figurative  language,  but  there  is  no  incompati- 
bility between  such  a  mode  of  expression  and  the  profoundest 
reasoning.  When  a  person  addresses  a  public  body,  he  does  not 
proceed,  like  a  mathematician,  rigidly  to  demonstrate  through 
ea(di  link  of  the  chain  the  validity  of  every  conclusion.  A  speaker 
who  should  attempt  to  make  such  a  parade  of  logical  exactness 
would  soon  discover  that  his  audience  would  never  submit  to  so 


IRISH  SCHOOL  OF  ELOQUENCE.  4S9 

harassing  a  tax  upon  their  attention.  The  popular  orator  is 
necessarily  obliged  to  tiirow  out  his  conclusions,  in  separate 
unconnected  masses.  To  try  their  value,  we  are  not  to  ask  if 
they  are  deducible  from  what  has  immediately  preceded.  They 
often  are  not  so:  they  are  often  the  results  of  previous  meditation 
which  he  has  stored  in  his  memory,  and  takes  occasion  to  advance 
as  they  happen  to  be  suggested  by  the  topics  under  discussion  ; 
although,  strictly  speaking,  there  may  be  no  logical  connexion 
between  them.  Their  value  is,  th-erefore,  to  be  ascertained,  not  by 
examining  them  as  deductions  from  his  previous  matter,  but  by 
inquiring  into  the  correctness  of  that  original  process  of  reasoning 
by  which  alone  his  mind  could  have  acquired  them ;  and  if  what 
the  orator  puts  forward  in  the  foi'm  of  assertions  appear,  upon 
investigation,  to  be  capable  of  demonstration,  it  is  manifest  that 
his  matter  is  not  less  argumentative  because  he  conveys  it  in  a 
figurati\e  diction.  The  profoundest  moral  and  political  truths 
may  be  conveyed  as  well  in  figurative  as  in  literal  language.  The 
strength  of  a  tliought  depends  as  little  as  that  of  a  man  upon 
dress.  V/e  may  disapprove  of  the  taste  which  needlessly  decks  it 
out  in  gaudy  attire;  but  we  are  not,  for  that  reason,  to  question 
its  native  force,  and  still  less  when  it  comes  appropriately  adorned 
with  the  lichest  clothing  of  a  poetic  imagination. 

l^ut  whatever  may  be  the  merits  of  this  style,  it  does  not 
appear  to  have  been  for  any  length  of  time  peculiar  to  the  Irish 
people.*  It  was  unknown  in  Irehxnd  before  the  present  reign. 
We  do  not  find  it  to  any  extent  in  the  productions  of  Swift,  (loUl- 
8iiiith,/or  Sterne,  the  three  most  popular  wi-iters  of  that  country. 
Tliere  is  infinitely  more  of  passion,  and  of  the  higher  order  of 
fancy,  whidi  is  tci-nicd  imagination,  in  the  prose   works  of  some 


*  This  oliservatinn  is  to  lip  uiidcrsl'iod  to  .■ip|)ly  to  the  literary  productions  of  the 
educated  classes.  The  idiom  of  the  native  Irish  laiiguage  iS  liiglily  figurative,  and  has  a 
sensible  ijilluence  upon  the  uiinds  of  the  lower  orders;  but  it  would  be  difficult  to  show 
tliHt  this  inUueiice  has  ever  extended  uiucli  beyond  them.— C. 

21* 


4:90  LIFE   OF   CURRAN. 

of  the  eminent  Englisli  wi'iters  of  the  seventeenth  century.*  Thi3 
figurative  style  was  introduced  into  the  Irish  Uouse  of  Commoi^s 
about  the  period  of  Ireland's  great  straggle  for  her  independence. 
An  opinion  prevails  that  Burke  was  its  oi'iginal  founder ;  hut 
though  Burke  might  have  employed  it  in  the  ]3i-itish  senate  a  few 
years  before  that  period,  it  is  a  violent  assumption  to  suppose  that 
the  eminent  leaders  in  the  Irish  Parliament  should  have  unani- 
mously dismissed  their  previous  ideas  of  oratorical  composition, 
in  order  to  become  his  imitators.  There  is  also  the  strono-est 
internal  evidence  against  the  supposition.  An  imitator  does  not 
copy  merely  the  leading  qualities  of  his  model ;  he  unconsciously 
conforms  to  it  in  every  particular — in  the  structure  of  his  periods, 
favourite  forms  of  expressions,  and  other  minute  observances,  which 
perpetually  beti-ay  his  secret.  Let  the  speeches  of  Burke  be  com- 
pared with  those  of  Mr.  Grattan,  the  most  eloquent  of  the  Ii-ish 
senators,  and  not  a  trace  of  such  imitation  can  be  detected :  no 
two  styles  (as  far  as  regards  the  diction  and  verbal  construction) 
can  be  more  different.  Burke's  language  is  rhetorical  and  copious, 
even  to  profuseness.  lie  leaves  nothing  to  be  supplied  by  his 
hearers.  He  addresses  them  as  persons  previously  unacquainted 
with  the  subject,  and  becomes  so  explanatoiy,  that  he  seems  deter- 
mined not  to  leave  off  till  he  forces  them  to  understand  it.  Mr. 
Grattan  is  the  reverse — abrupt,  condensed,  and  epigrammatic, 
rejecting  the  connecting  particles  of  speech,  and  often  the  con- 
necting ideas,  as  expletives  and  incumbrances.  He  throws  off  his 
matter  in  the  form  of  a  table  of  the  contents  of  his  mind. 

If  any  single  individual  could  be  said  to  have  laid  the  foundation 
of 'this  style,  it  might  equally  be  traced  to  the  great  Lord  Chatham, 
many  of  whose  impassioned  bursts  belong  to  that  order  of  eloquence 
■which  was  so  general  in  the  Irish  House  of  Commons  :  but  its  pre- 
valence ill  that  assembly  can  be  more  naturally  and  satisfactorily 

*  Of  this,  numerous  examples  might  be  produced  from  the  prose  works  of  Milton,  the 
writings  of  Jeremy  Taylor,  Lord  Bacon,  &c. — C. 


i'OrULAR   ELOQtENCE.  491 

explained  by  the  condition  of  the  times,  and  the  nature  jf  the  sub- 
jects wliich  agitated  the  nation.  In  tbc.  various  stages  ot"  political 
society,  there  is  none  so  favourable  to  popular  eloquence  as  thai  in 
which  the  advantages  of  freedom  ai'e  fully  appreciated  by  the 
intelle'-tual  classes,  but  are  in  <langer  of  being  lost,  or  are  unjustly 
withheld.  This  may  be  either  -at  that  period  of  national  decline, 
when,  from  the  corruption  of  morals,  and  its  unerring  signs,  the 
venality  of  every  rank,  and  a  general  contempt  for  established 
institutions,  liberty  is  imperfectly  secured  against  foreign  invasion, 
or  the  licentious  ambition  of  powerful  subjects.  Such  was  the  case 
when  eloquence  most  flourished  in  Greece  and  Rome.  Or  it  may 
be  when  a  jteople  is  just  emerging  fi'om  bondage^n  that  anxious 
interval  between  the  first  siyns  of  returnino-  life  in  the  national 
body  and  its  perfect  reanimation,  when  violent  and  repeated  shocks 
are  necessary  to  rekindle  its  spirit,  and  preserve  it  from  relapsing 
into  torpor.  This  was  the  condition  of  Ireland.  At  such  a  period 
the  advocates  of  j)opular  rights  could  not  confine  themselves  withii? 
the  limits  of  tenq)erafe  discussion.  The  flagrant  abuses — the  shame- 
less stand  made  against  their  i'(;foi-mation — tlie  notorious  venality 
and  worthlessness  of  those  who  made  it, — the  natui'al  pride  and 
generous  impatience  of  men,  who  found  their  honest  eflbrts  counter- 
acted by  a  race  of  beings  whom  they  despised,  necessarily  impel- 
led them  to  give  utterance  to  theii'  indio-uation  in  all  the  vehemence 
of  the  luost  passionate  remonsti'ance.  These  circumstances  of 
themselves — the  deep  sense  of  their  country's  wrongs,  and  of  the 
necessity  of  animating  it,  and  exposing  its  oppressors — will  suth- 
ciently  explain  the  peculiarities  of  tlieir  oratory.  Figurative  lan- 
guage is  the  natural  idiomatic  style  of  invective  and  complaint;  the 
sufferer  (or  the  advoca(<'  who  represents  him)  finds  a  melancholv 
consolation  in  painting  his  misery  in  the  most  vivid  colours  that  an 
exasperated  imagination  can  supply.  There  is  a  feeling  of  high- 
minded  self-love  in  the  victim,  whose  spirit  is  not  utterly  enslaved, 
which  leads  him  to  exaggerate,  if  possible,  the  injustice  under 
whicL  lie  groans,  an<l  proudly  to  justify  himself  against  his  destiny. 


402  LIFE   OF   CUKRAN. 

The  Eiip-lisb  House  of  Commons  afFoixls  a  corroboration  of  tliese 
remarks.  Whenever  the  same  impassioned  style  of  eloquence  has 
been  heard  there,  it  has  almost  invariably  proceeded,  not  from  the 
ministerial  members  defending  the  wisdom  and  expediency  of  their 
acts,  but  from  the  leaders  of  the  Opposition  inveighing  against 
measures  which  they  held  to  be  dishonourable  or  oppressive. 

In  addition  to  the  general  influence  which  Burke  is  supposed  to 
have  had  upon  the  oratory  of  his  countrymen,  it  has  been  often 
observed,  that  a  strong  individual  resemblancie  may  be  discovered 
between  him  and  Mr.  Currau.     It  is  very  donl)tful  praise  to  say  of 
any  one  that  he  differed  from  Burke  :  still,  if  the  two  men  be  atten- 
tively  compared,    it    must  be    admitted,  that   in    many   leading 
points,  they  were  strikingly  dissimilar.     Thus  (witliout  attempting 
an  elaborate  analysis  of  their  respective  qualities),  to  advert  to  the 
most  obvious    differences.      Both  possessed  the  faculties  of  I'ea- 
son  and  imagination  in  a  high  degree ;  but  the  general  maxims  to 
which  those  powers  conducted  them  wei'e  sti'ongly  contrasted.    In 
all  his  general  views  of  society,  Burke's  mind  discovers  a  deep 
respect  for  power,  for   "raidc,   and  office,  and  title,  and  all  the 
solemn  plausibilities  of  the  world."     Ho  reviewed  the   history  of 
the  world,  and,  pausing  over  the  institutions  which  had  affected  its 
destiny,  reverenced  them  for  the  gi'eatness  of  their  effects.     Mr. 
Curran  looked  at  institutions  as  connected  with  freedom ;  and, 
where  he  found  a  tendency  in  them  to  enslave  the  human  mind, 
forgot  all  their  imposing  grandeur  in  that  single  evil.    Thus  Burke's 
imagination   contemplated,  "  with  an  awful  o-ravity,"  the  age  of 
chivalry  (the  time  of  our  "  canonized  forefathers,"  as  a  splendid 
array  of  pageantry,  gallantry,  and  deeds  of  arms,  with  its  proud 
"bearings  and  ensigns  armorial,"  and  all  those  images  of  power 
which    "carry  an    imposing  and    majestic  aspect."      The    olher 
remembered  its  oppressions,  and  was  never  heard  to  lament  that 
"  the  age  of  chivalry  was  gone.     The  same  leaning  to  power  may 
be  observed  in  Burke's  pathetical  effusions.      His  most  affecting 
lamentations  are  over  fallen  greatness.     Mr.  Currau's  pathos  was 


bdkke's  eloquence.  493 

less  ambitious,  but  more  social  and  extensive,  embracing  the  suf- 
ferings of  every  rank.  Tlie  pathos  of  the  one  was  more  that  of  the 
schools :  the  sublime  epic  pathos  of  antiquity.  He  was  most  touched 
by  historical  viscissitudes.  He  hung  over  the  royal  corse  and 
wept  from  the  recollection  that  the  head,  now  prostrate  in  the 
dust,  had  lately  worn  a  crown.  The  other's  tears  were  not  reser- 
ved  for  the  misfoi'tunes  of  the  great — he  did  not  disdain  to  shift 
the  scene  of  distress  from  the  palace  to  the  cottage  or  the  dun- 
geon, and  to  sympathise  with  those  obscure  afflictions  which  his- 
tory does  not  condescend  to  record,  but  wliich  man  is  destined 
hourly  to  endure. 

Burke's  acquired  knowledge  was  more  extensive,  and  his  mind 
moi'e  scientific  and  discursive.  He  looked  upon  the  great  scene  of 
)iuman  affairs  as  a  problem  for  a  philosopher  to  resolve,  and  de- 
lighted in  those  wide  comprehensive  views  where  much  interme- 
diate balancing  and  combination  must  precede  the  final  result.  No 
one  could  better  describe  the  spirit  of  a  particular  age,  or  tbe  con- 
dition and  resources  of  a  powerful  empire.  Mr.  Curran's  genius 
was  less  philosophic;,  Init  more  popular.  He  had  more  confined 
his  studies  to  the  human  passions  and' feelings  as  he  observed  them 
in  active  operation  before  him.  His  general  views  were  derived 
fiom  his  own  experience  rather  than  from  histoi-ical  instruction. 
He  had  witnessed  so  much  of  the  abuses  of  power,  that  he  acquir- 
ed a  hatred  of  and  contempt  for  it;  and  his  chief  skill  lay  in  ex- 
posing those  abuses.  He  could  best  describe  a  scene  o^  local  or 
individu;il  oppression,  and  lay  bare,  for  public  execration,  "  the  in- 
fernal Avorkinixs  of  the  hearts  of  the  malio-nant  slaves"  who  were 
ifs  instruments. 

Many  particulars  in  wliicli  they  differed  may  be  attributed  to 
their  rcsj)ective  situations.  They  were  cotemporaries ;  but  they 
lived  in  such  diflerent  countries,  that  they  might  be  saiii  to  have 
lived  in  a  dift'erent  age.  Burke's  life  was  passed  under  a  political 
system,  which  (whatever  might  be  its  theoretic  im[)erfections)  was 
diffusing  real  blessings  all  around ;  an<l  to  leave  it  a.s  he  found  it 


494:  LIFE    OF    CUKRAN. 

was  the  wise  end  of  all  his  efforts.  The  other  lived  under  a  sys- 
tem, which,  with  "  many  shows  of  seeming-  pure,"  was  an  actual 
curse ;  and  his  life  was  a  long  struggle  to  inspire  his  country  with 
the  spirit  to  reform  it.  These  different  objects  of  each — of  the  one 
to  preserve  freedom,  of  the  other  to  obtain  it — gave  a  different 
:;haracter  to  their  oratory.  Burke's  wisdom  had  taught  him  the 
iangers  of  popular  innovation ;  and  he  would  have  protected,  even 
under  the  shield  of  superstition,  the  institutions  over  which  ho 
watched.  There  is  a  certain  oracular  pride  and  pomp  in  his  man- 
ner of  announcing  important  j^olitical  truths,  as  if  they  were  awful 
mysteries  which  the  uninitiated  crowd  were  to  reverence  from  afar. 
Like  the  high  priests  of  (.'Id,  he  would  have  inspired  a  sacred  dread 
of  approaching  the  inmost  temple,  lest  some  profane  iwtruder 
should  discover  and  proclaim  that  the  god  was  not  there.  The 
spectacle  of  misrule  in  Ireland  had,  on  the  contrary,  impressed  upon 
Mr.  Curran's  mind  the  nece^ssity  of  animating  the  people  with  a 
spirit  of  fearless  inquiry.  To  do  this  he  had  to  awaken  them  to  a 
sense  of  their  importance  and  their  claims,  by  gratifying  their  self- 
love,  and  filling  them  with  the  persuasion,  that  there  was  no  truth 
which  they  were  not  fitted  to  examine  and  comprehend. 

Burke  is  more  instructive  and  commanding  than  persuasive.  lie 
looked  upon  the  people  from  an  eminence,  from  which  he  saw 
them  under  their  diminished  forms,  and  betrayed  a  consciousness 
that  he  was  above  them.  The  other  remained  below — threw  him- 
self among  them — and,  persuading  them  that  they  were  his  equals, 
by  that  means  became  the  master  of  their  movements. 

This  is  the  most  striking  distinction  in  the  impressions  which 
they  make  upon  us — that  we  feel  the  one  to  be  our  superior, 
and  imagine  the  other  to  be  only  a  companion.  In  Burke's  most 
exalting  conceptions  there  is  a  gorgeous  display  of  knowledge  and 
intellect,  which  reminds  us  of  our  inferiority  and  our  incapacity  to 
ascend  without  his  aid.  The  popular  charm  of  the  other's  elo- 
quence is,  that  it  makes  us  only  feel  more  intensely  what  we  have 
felt  before.     In  his  loftiest  flights,  we  are  conscious  of  being  elevg.- 


BUKKE   AND   CUKK^^JST   COMPARED.  495 

ted  with  him,  and  for  the  moment  forget  that  we  soar  upon 
another's  wing ;  for  the  elements  of  his  subhmity  are  the  passions 
in  which  we  all  partake ;  and,  when  he  wakes  the  living  chords 
to  their  highest  ecstasy,  it  is  not  that  he  strikes  one  which  was 
never  touched  before,  but  that  he  gives  a  longer  and  louder  vibra- 
tion to  the  chords  which  are  never  still. 

The  history  of  each  exemplifies  their  characters.  Burke  was  a 
philosopher,  and  could  transplant  his  sympathies.  He  went 
abroad,  and  passed  his  life  admiring  and  enjoying  the  benefits  of 
"  his  adopted,  and  dearer,  and  more  comprehensive  country."  Mr. 
Curran  was  a  patriot,  whose  affections,  could  he  have  torn  them 
from  their  native  bed,  would  have  drooped  in  another  soil.  lie 
stayed  at  home,  and  closed  his  days  in  deploring  the  calamities 
which  he  had  vainl/  labored  to  avert. 


4[»6  LIFE   OF   CUKRAN. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

I 

Mt.  Curran's  skill  in  cross-examination— ITis  general  I'cading— His  conversation — His 
w't— Manuscript  thoughts  on  various  subjects — jI;s  manners,  person — Personal  pecu- 
liai  ities— Conclusion. 

Next  to  tlie  force  of  Mr.  Curran's  e]o.[uenco  was  the  skill  of  his 
cross-examinations,  a  department  of  liis  profession  in  which  he 
■was,  perhaps,  still  more  unrivalled  than  as  a  speaker.  Of  the  extent 
of  this  talent  it  is  iiii])0ssible  that  any  description  or  examples  can 
convey  an  adequate  idea  to  those  who  liave  never  witnessed  the 
living  scene ;  but  tlie  bar,  who  alone  could  fully  appreciate  his 
I'esources,  for  they  alone  were  fully  sensible  of  the  difficulties  in 
each  case  against  wliich  he  had  to  contend,  have  unanimously 
allowed  that  his  address  and  sagacity  as  a  cross-examiner  were 
altogether  matchless.  It  was,  perhaps,  here  that  as  an  advocate 
he  was  most  feared  and  most  resistless.*     In  cases  where  there 

*  In  the  cross-examination  of  witnesses,  Mr.  Curran's  scrutiny  was  tremendous. 
Instinctive  and  intuitive  as  Shakespeare,  he  knew  all  the  fastnesses,  passes  and  windings 
of  the  human  heart,  into  which  truth  seeks  to  retire  and  to  conceal  itself.  He  knew  al) 
the  weaknesses",  the  passions  of  hope  and  of  fear,  of  interest  and  of  resentment;  and 
such  was  his  knowledge  of  human  nature,  and  so  much  was  he  in  her  confidence,  that 
he  silently  inhaled  all  the  operations  of  the  villain  he  would  expose  ;  dragged  Cacus  from 
his  cave,  penetrated  into  the  mysteries  of  hell,  and  threw  open  to  tlie  common  observer 
the  secrets  of  those  dark  regions.  Keen  and  ardent  in  the  pursuit,  he  was  always  sure 
of  his  game  ;  eager  and  intrepid  in  the  chase,  he  -was  ever  in  at  the  death  ;  whether  play- 
ful or  severe,  he  never  relaxed;  whether  his  weapon  was  ridicule,  or  open  and  direct 
attack  ;  whether  it  was  the  power  of  reason  cutting  through  a  weak  and  fluttering  consci- 
ence, his  edge  was  unerring:  the  mole  which  hid  its  head  in  the  earth,  he  perceived  by 
the  kjcking  of  its  feet  ;  when  it  could  see  nothing,  it  thought  itself  secure  and  unseen. 
If  truth  I:iy  at  the  bottom  of  her  well,  he  plunged  in,  and  plucked  up  drowned  honour  by 
the  locks  ;  or  did  she  escjipe  to  the  mountain  top,  he  would  round  its  slopes  and  gain  its 
heiglits  with  the  activity  of  an  Arab  warrior.  He  had  the  power  to  elicit  it  from  the 
flint;  and  by  his  touch,  as  if  with  a  wand,  he  caused  it  to  gush  forth  from  the  hardest 
rock.     It  may  justly  be  said  of  him,  that  ''  The  Gordian  knot  of  it  he  could  untie  familiar 


OKOSS-EXAMINATION.  497 

was  some  latent  fraud  or  perjury,  in  exposing  which  his  whole 
strength  was  alwaj'S  most  conspicuously  developed,  he  uniformly 
surprised  his  own  profession  no  less  than  the  general  spectator,  by 
the  singular  versatility  of  his  powers,  and  by  his  femiliarity  with 
every  variety  of  human  character,  at  once  so  extensive  and  so 
minute,  that  he  coukl  discover  at  a  glance  the  exact  tone  and 
manner  best  calculated  to  persuade,  terrify  or  entrap  into  a  con- 
fession of  the  truth,  the  particular  description  of  person  upon 
whom  he  had  to  work.  In  managing  a  sullen  or  dishonest  wit- 
ness there  was  nothing  that  he  left  untried;  solemnity,  menace, 
ridicule,  pathos,  flattery,  and  even  for  the  monient  respectful  sub- 
mission. In  contests  of  this  kind  he  had,  in  an  eminent  degree, 
the  art  of  "  stooping  to  conquer."  If  a  few  insidious  compliments 
lO  the  witness's  understanding,  and  an  apparently  coixlial  assent 
to  all  his  assertions  and  ojiinions,  or  a  long  series  of  jests,  no  mat- 
ter whether  good  or  bad,  seemed  likely  to  throw  him  ofi'  his  guard, 
he  never  hesitated  ;*  his  favourite  method  was  by  some  such  artifice 
to  divert  his  attention,  or  to  press  him  with  pretended  earnestness 
upon  some  trivial  iri'elevant  point  until  he  found  the  witness  elated 
with  his  fancied  security,  and  then  to  drop,  as  it  were  incidentally, 

as  Iiis  garter."  Jurors  latterly  began  to  doubt  themselves,  and  to  be  frighted  at  the 
magic  of  his  address;  while  he  who  bore  false  witness  against  his  neighbours  was  often 
seen,  like  Festus,  to  have  trembled.  In  variety  and  effect  in  this  department  of  his  pro- 
fession he  was  unrivalled,  ami  sola  sicca  secum  spatidiur  ardiia. — O'IIec.an. 

*  The  following  may  be  taken  as  a  specimen  of  tlie  ludicrous  phi'aseology  lo  which  he 
sometimes  resorted  : — A  witness  having  sworn  that  as  he  was  returning,  at  a  late  hour, 
from  a  sup|)cr  parly,  he  was  assaulted  by  Mr.  Curran's  client,  the  counsel,  in  his  cross- 
examination,  asked  him — "  if  the  number  of  eggs  that  composed  his  sui)per  wiia  not  more 
than  that  of  the  graces  and  equal  to  that  of  the  muses? — if  he  did  not  usually  drink  a 
little  coarse  wine  at  dinner,  by  way  of  foundation  to  keep  the  claret  out  of  the  wet?  if 
he  did  not  swallow  a  squib  after  dinner,  by  way  of  Latin  for  his  goose?  and  if,  after  his 
foundation  of  white  wine,  with  a  superstructure  of  three  pints  of  claret,  a  stratum  of 
nine  eggs,  a  pint  of  porter,  and  a  supra-cargo  of  three  pints  of  Geneva  punch,  his  judg- 
ment was  not  a  lil'.le  under  the  yoke?" — C.  [In  the  case  Massy  ■».  Uie  Marquis  of  Head- 
ford,  Mr.  Curran  had  described  the  "noble"  defendant,  as  a  hoary  adulterer.  In  the 
cross-examination  of  one  of  the  witnesses,  he  found  il  difficult  to  prove  his  age.  At  last 
the  witness  admitted,  that  the  Marquis  was  gray.  "  You  will  admit,"  said  Curran,  quot- 
ing a  Well  known  adage,  "  that  he  was  gray  before  he  was  good." — M.] 


498  LIFE   OF   CUKKAN. 

and  with  a  tone  of  indifference  as  to  the  answer,  or  in  a  manner 
implying  that  it  had  been  ah'eady  admitted,  some  vital  question, 
to  which,  in  all  probability,  the  desired  reply  would  be  given 
before  the  peijurer  had  time  to  recollect  whether  he  had  pie- 
viously  asserted  or  denied  the  fact.  So  unexpected  and  surprising 
were  his  discoveries  of  a  person's  cliaracter  and  morals,  from 
external  indications  so  slight  as  to  be  imperceptible  to  others, 
that  the  lower  orders  of  his  countrymen  had  an  almost  supersti- 
tious reverence  for  his  abilities,  as  if  he  were  gifted  with  a  super- 
natural power  of  "  looking  through  the  deeds  of  men."  From 
the  prevaleurce  of  this  opinion,  his  name  was  the  proverbial  terror 
of  the  Irish  informer.  Even  those  wretches  who,  in  "  drudging  for 
a  pardon,"  or  a  reward,  had  so  steeled  their  conscience  against 
remorse  and  shame,  that  they  could  hear  unmoved  the  deep  buzz 
of  .smothered  execrations  with  which  the  multitude  announced 
their  approach,  and  even  glory  in  their  indiffei'ence  to  the  "  sound 
of  public  scorn,"  had  not  the  nerves  to  sustain  his  torturing 
development  of  th'^ir  unrighteous  lives.  They  were  not  only 
abaslied  and  confounded  by  that  art,  which  he  so  consummately 
possessed,  of  involving  them  in  prevarication,  by  confronting  them 
with  themselves,  but  they  have  been  actually  seen,  as  if  under  a 
momentary  shock  of  virtuous  j^anic,  to  plunge  from  off  the  public 
table,  and  fly  to  shelter  from  his  upbraiding  presence,  leaving  the 
rescued  victims  to  reward  by  their  blessings  their  advocate  and 
saviour. 

It  will  not  be  necessary  to  dwell  at  any  length  upon  Mr.  Cur- 
ran's  character  as  a  lawyer.  He  was  never  profoundly  read ;  but 
his  mind  had  firmly  seized  all  the  leading  principles  of  the  Eng- 
lish code,  more  particularly  those  of  constitutional  law ;  and  he 
was  always  considered  by  the  menbers  of  his  own  profession  to 
have  displayed  enrinent  skill  in  his  logical  application  of  them. 
In  the  earliei'  part  of  his  carreer  his  reasoning  powers  were  admit- 
ted to  have  been  of  the  first  order,  until  the  si)lendour  of  his 
eloquence  gave  rise  to  the  unfounded  notion,  that  where  tliere 


HIS   ACQUIKEMENTS.  ^99 

was  SO  much  imagination  tlie  faculty  of  reason  must  have  been 
deiicient.  ]3iit  some  of  his  pubUshed  arguments  amply  refute  this 
opinion. 

His  judicial  history  contains  little  requiring  particular  notice. 
Upon  the  bench  he  religiously  respected  those  privileges  which 
at  the  bar  he  had  so  st  reriuously  supported.  If  he  fell  into  any 
error  upon  this  point,  it  was  that  his  abhorrence  of  favouritism 
often  led  him  to  be  over  scrupulous  in  granting  any  indulgeni.'e, 
where  the  counsel  claiming  it  happened  to  be  one  of  his  personal 
friends. 

With  regard  to  his  general  reading,  much  of  it  may  be  col- 
lected from  his  speeches.  The  frequency  of  classical  and  scriptural 
allusions,  and  of  expressions  borrowed  from  the  English  poets,  suf- 
ficiently point  out  the  writings  with  which  he  was  most  familiar. 
He  was  never  deeply  versed  in  general  histoiy ;  he  had,  however, 
studied  with  attention  and  success  that  portion  of  it  (the  great 
constitutional  epochs  in  the  history  of  Great  Britain  and  Ireland) 
Avhich  it  was  pecidiarly  incumbent  on  him,  as  a  lawyer  and  a 
senator,  to  know.  The  enthusiasm  with  which,  in  a  passage 
already  cited,  he  has  described  t]ie  scientific  and  literaiy  genius 
of  Scotland,  proves  the  impression  made  ujxni  liim  by  the  noble 
productions  of  that  intellectual  people.  His  early  knowledge  of 
the  French  language  has  been  mentioned.  He  continued  to  cul- 
tivate  it  during  the  rest  of  his  life;  and  though  his  study  of  it  was 
only  occas.onal  and  desultory,  and  his  residence  in  Fi-ance  never 
exceeded  a  few  weeks  at  a  time,  he  spoko  and  wrote  it  with  unusual 
correctness.  It  may  be  added,  as  a  peculiarity  of  his  taste,  that 
he  used  to  express  hinist-lf  to  be  more  sensible  of  the  beauties  of 
that  language  than  <if  liisown.  Among  the  French  serious  writer.? 
he  always  pi-cfci'i'cd  Jious.^cnu.  IL'  undci-stood  Ilnlian  suflicit.itly 
well  to  conqii'eliciiij  tln^  popular  pootiy  of  moJL'rn  Tluly;  but 
Italian  litoratui'c  was  never  one  of  his  favourite  pursuits. 

After  having  stated  so  inuih    in  commenihntion  of  Mr.  Curran's 
intellectual  superiority;  it  mav  seem  like  the  spirit  of  boundless 


50Q  LIFE  OF  cuin:AN, 

eiilogium  to  go  on ;  but  who,  that  ever  knew  him,  could  dismiss 
his  Mfe  without  dwelling  for  a  moment  upon  his  colloquial  and 
convivial  powers  ?  As  a'  compaiii<^Tu  he  was,  in  his  own  country, 
confessedly  without  a  rival.  In  speaking  of  the  charms  of  his 
conversation,  it  would  be  exceediTip-  the  truth  to  assert,  as  has 
sometimes  been  done,  that  the  creations  of  his  careless  hours  were 
often  more  vi\ad  and  felicitous  than  his  more  studied  public 
etlorts.;  yet  is  it  no  small  pi-aise  to  l>e  justif.ed  in  saying,  that  they 
were  equal,  or  nearly  equal ;  that  few  who  apjn'oached  him, 
attracted  by  his  general  reputation,  ever  left  hiiri  v.ithout  having 
their  admiration  confirmed,  if  not  increased,  by  the  v'gour  and 
originality  of  his  ordinary  conversation.*  According  fo  the  testi- 
mony of  those  wlfo  had  enjoyed  his  society  at  an  earlier  period, 
some  of  its  atti'actions  had  latterly  disapjieared.  The  survivors  of 
the  "Monks  of  St.  Patrick,"  ai-e  those  who  best  can  tell  what  Mr. 
Curran  was  at  the  festive  board.  It  was  in  that  season  of  youth 
and  hope,  when  exalted  by  the  spirit  of  their  classic  and  patriotic 
meetings,  and  surrounded  by  "  those  admired  and  respected,  and 
beloved  companions,"  that  his  mind  surrendered  itself  to  every 
emotion  of  social  enthusiasm,  throwing  off  in  exhaustless  profusion 
everj'^  thought  that  could  touch  the  fancy  or  the  heart.  No 
laboured  description  can  now  convey  an  adequate  notion  of  those 


*  It  was  in  conversation  when  lie  was  properly  in  his  own  slimate ;  when  in  high  tone, 
and  harmonised  liy  fit  accompaniments,  that  he  "  discoursed  most  excellent  music." 
Often  liappiest  when  his  subject  was  gravest,  or  when  letters,  men,  taste,  past,  or  passing 
events  were  touched.  On  these  topics  he  entered  with  a  curious  felicity,  so  as  to  swell 
the  listener's  mind  to  participate  in  the  proud  consciousness  of  human  superiority,  of 
which  he  could  be  scarcely  ajiprised  till  he  heard  hi)n.  And  wliether  he  courted  the 
mournful  muse,  or  were  his  even  the  sallies  of  gaiety  and  mirth,  such  was  the  Hombre  of 
his  pencil,  or  such  the  playfulness  and  airiness  of  his  imagery;  and  so  surprising  ^e.r6 
the  '"ip'd  transitions  fo  the  most  sxquisite  comedy,  that  days  and  niglits  passed  thus 
with  Mm  were  truly  in  his  own  phrase  (on  some  other  occasion)  "the  refections  of  the 
gods."  Ilis  quotations,  though  frequent,  were  never  pedantic:  he  melted  doirn  the  clas- 
sic sentiment,  and  it  became  more  pure,  and  you  felt  the  allusion  or  illustration  in  all 
the  freshness  of  its  original  force.  It  was  on  these  occasions  his  soul  resembled  a  finely- 
toMtd  instrument,  which  a  rude  or  clumsy  touch  flung  into  disorder:  it  wr.s  the  harp 
which  played  to  the  zephyr,  and  whose  wildest  were  its  sweetest  notes  !" — CKugan, 


/ 


His  WIT.  501 

effusions.  Tlie  graver  parts,  had  they  been  preserved,  would  have 
been  found  to  resemble  many  admired  passages  in  his  printed 
speeches ;  but  the  lighter  and  most  frequent  sallies,  deriving  their 
charm  from  minute  and  evanescent  combinations  of  characters 
and  circumstances,  have  necessarily  perished  with  the  occasions 
for  which  alone  they  were  intended. 

Numerous  specimens  of  his  wit  have  been  preserved,  from  which 
its  style,  rather  than  its  extent,  may  be  collected.  It  may  be  gen- 
erally observed  of  his  wit,  that  it  delighted,  not  so  much  from  the 
naked  merit  of  any  single  effort,  as  from  the  incessancy  and  un- 
expectedness of  its  combinations.  It  also  possessed  one  quality, 
which  is  above  all  value,  that  of  never  inflicting  an  undeserved 
wound.  In  all  those  cases  where  the  words  mii>-ht  seem  to  intemi 
a  personal  reflection,  he  never  failed  to  neutralise  the  poison  by  a 
playful  ironical  manner  whtch  testified  his  own  belief  of  what  he 
was  asserting.  It  would  be  difficult  to  produce  an  equal  number 
of  pointed  sayings,  in  which  the  spirits  consist  so  little  in  particu- 
lar of  general  satire;  neither  do  they  appear,  like  the  humorous 
sallies  of  many  celebrated  wits,  to  have  been  dictated  by  any  pecu- 
liar set  of  speculative  opinions.  The  sceptic,  the  misanthrope,  the 
voluptuaiy,  and  all,  in  short,  wlio  habitually  look  at  the  business 
of  life  through  the  medium  of  thei"  pailicular  doctrines,  are  per- 
petually betraying  in  their  mirth  s  me  open  or  lurking  application 
to  their  favorite  tenets:  the  ina^  nces  of  their  wit,  if  accui'ately 
examined,  may  be  resolved  into  illustrations  of  their  system.  Thus 
the  humour  of  Voltaire  is  for  ever  reniinding  us  of  his  impiety ; 
that  of  Ssvift,  of  his  splenetic  contempt  of  human  folly  ,  but  almost 
all  of  Mr.  Curraii's  lively  sayings  were  suggested  at  the  moment 
by  the  immediate  circumstances  and  persons,  or  verbal  associations; 
they  are  in  general  insulated  and  individual,  ending  where  they 
began,  and  not  referrible  to  any  previous  systematic  view  of  human 
affairs.* 

•An  entire  collection  of  the  botis  vioU)  attributed  to  JIi-.  Cun-an  woulil  ftil  many  pages. 
Tlie  following  are  selected  as  a  few  speciiuena.     In  all  of  them  it  will  be  seen  how  much 


60^  LIFE  OF  CURRAK. 

Mr.  Home  Tooke,  after  having  passed  aa  evening  in  tlie  com- 
pany of  Mr.  Curran  and  the  late  Mr.  Sheridan,  whom  he  had, 
upon  that  occasion,  for  the  first  time  inet  together,  was  asked  his 
opinion  of  the  wit  of  each.  He  replied,  "  that  Sheridan's  was  like 
steel   highly  polished,  and  sharjDened  for  display  and  use ;  that 


less  the  essence  depends  upor\  She  satire  than  upon  the  fanciful  combination  of  words  or 
images. 

Mr.  Curran  was  engaged  in  a  legal  argument — behind  him  stood  his  colleague,  a  gen- 
tleman whose  person  was  remarkably  tall  aud  slender,  and  who  had  originally  designed 
to  take  orders.  The  judge  observing  that  the  case  under  discussion  involved  a  ques- 
tion of  ecclesiastical  law — "Then,"  said  Mr.  Curran,  "I  can  refer  your  lordship  to  a 
high  authority  behind  me,  who  was  once  intended  for  the  churali,  though  {in  a  whisper  to 
afriend  beside  him)  in  my  opinion  lie  was  fitter  for  the  steeple." 

An  oCBcer  of  one  of  the  courts,  named  Halfpenny,  having  frequently  interrupted  Mr. 
Curran,  the  judge  peremptorily  ordered  him  to  be  silent,  and  sit  down.  "I  thank  your 
lordship,"  said  the  counsel,  "  for  having  at  length  nailed  that  rap  to  the  counter." 

"  I  can't  tell  you,  Curran,"  observed  an  Irish  nobleman,  who  had  voted  for  the  Union, 
"how  frightful  our  old  House  of  Commons  appears  to  me."  "  Ah  !  ray  lord,"  replied  ths 
other,  "  it  is  only  natural  for  murderers  to  be  afraid  of  ghosts." 

A  deceased  judge  had  a  defect  in  one  of  his  limbs,  from  which,  when  he  walked,  one  foot 
described  almost  a  circle  round  the  other.  Mr.  Curi'an  being  asked  how  liis  lordship  still 
contrived  to  walk  so  fast,  answered — "  Don't  you  see  that  one  leg  goes  before  like  a  tip- 
staff, and  clears  the  way  for  the  other  ?" 

Mr.  Curran,  cross-examining  a  horse-jockey's  servant,  a  iked  his  master's  age.  "I 
never  put  my  hand  in  his  mouth  to  try,"  answered  the  witness.  The  laugh  was  against 
the  counsel,  till  he  retorted — "  You  did  perfectly  right,  friend,  for  your  master  is  said  to 
be  a  great  bite." 

A  miniature  painter,  upon  his  cross-examination  by  Mr.  Curran,  was  made  to  confess 
that  he  had  carried  his  improper  freedoms  with  a  particular  lady  so  far  as  to  attempt  to 
put  his  arm  round  her  waist.  "  Then,  sir,"  said  the  counsel,  "I  suppose  you  took  that 
waist  (icasie)  for  a  common." 

"  No  man,"  said  a  wealthy,  but  a  weak-headed  barrister,  "  should  be  admitted  to  the 
bar  who  has  not  an  independent  landed  property."  "  May  I  ask,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Curran, 
"  how  many  acres  make  a  wise-acre  f" 

"Would  you  not  have  known  this  boy  to  be  my  son,  from  his  resemblance  to  me  ?"  asked 
a  gentleman.  Mr.  Curran  answered — "  Yes,  sir  ;,the  maker's  name  is  stamped  upon  the 
Uade." 

Mr.  Curran  was  asked  what  an  Irish  gentleman,  just  arrived  in  England,  could  mean  by 
perpetually  putting  out  his  tongue?  Answered — "I  suppose  he's  trying  to  catch  the 
English  accent." 

At  a  public  dinner  he  was  defending  his  countrymen  against  the  imputation  of  being  a 
naturally  vicious  race.  "  Many  of  our  faults,  for  instance  (said  he),  arise  from  our  too 
free  use  of  the  circulating  ii  ^dium  {pointing  to  the  wine)  but  I  never  heard  of  nn  Irish- 
man being  born  drunk," 


tOOSE   THOUGHTS.  ^03 

Curran's  was  a  mine  of  virgin  gold,  incessantly  cruniblitg  away 
from  its  own  richness." 

The  celebrated  Madame  De  Stael,  who  during  her  last  resi- 
dence in  England,  was  surrounded  by  persons  the  most  distin- 
guished for  talent,  frequently  observed  that  she  had  been  most 
struck  by  the  originality  and  variety  of  Mr.  Curran's  colloquial 
powers.  This  was  in  1813,  when  his  health  and  spirits  were  in  a 
state  of  depression,  which  rendered  the  effort  to  support  his  part 
in  such  company  a  painful  exertion.* 

Among  his  papers  there  are  a  few  sheets  covered  with  thoughts 
loosely  thrown  together,  from  which  a  few^  extracts  may  convey 
some  idea  of  the  more  striking  passages  of  his  conversation. 

"England  has  been  industriously  taught  to  believe,  that  what- 
ever degrades  or  tortures  this  devoted  country  is  essentially  good 
for  her;  and  that  if  some  supernatural  spirit  (a  Popish  imp  to  be 
sure)  were  to  take  advantage  of  some  dark  night,  and  in  the  morn- 
ing the  Irish  peasant  should  awake  in  astonishment  to  find  his 
cottage  "with  its  roof  thatched,  and  its  floor  dried,  and  clothes  and 
food  miraculously  supplied  for  his  children,  I  can  scarcely  doubt 
that  when  certain  intelligence  of  so  disaftectinar  a  visitor  had 
arrived  in  Britain,  a  solemn  fast  and  InnniliHtion  would  be  pro- 
claimed by  our  orthoilox  rulers  to  expiate  whatever  of  our  crimes 
had  drawn  down  so  heavy  a  punishment,  and  to  atone  for  the 
offence,  for  example,  of  abolishing  the  slave  trade,  and  to  show 
our  contrition  by  giving  it  a  five  years'  reprieve,  that  so  it  might 
recover  itself  and  live  for  ever,  to  the  satisfaction  of  a  merciful 
God,  and  the  true  glory  of  his  holy  religion." 

"  (^Bourbons  :   freedom   of  the  jpress.) — Perhaps    exile   is   the 


*  Alluding  in  a  private  letter  to  one  of  those  parties,  he  says,  "  I  dined  yesterday  with 
a  society  of  wits  at  Madame  de  Stael's  ;  Stieridan,  other  great  names,  Ac.  I  find  that 
even  sugar  may  cloy.  Perhaps  there  is  no  society  in  which  less  bona-fide  cordiality 
reigns.  In  truth  where  can  you  look  to  find  so  much  false  money  as  among  coiners  by 
trade?  Believe  me  I  have  passed  much  pleasanter  eveninga  at  Whitehall.  (A  country- 
place  in  the  vicinity  of  Dublin.) — C. 


504.  LIFE   OF   CURaAN. 

bitterest  ingredient  of  captivity.  The  Jew  felt  it  so,  when  ha 
wept  by  the  waters  of  Babylon.  If  adversity  ever  becomes  a 
teacher,  surely  her  school  ought  to  be  found  in  exile." 

'•'■  {^Christianity) — The  first  ages  were  hypocrisy  and  imposture. 
Tbese  soon  excited  their  natui'al  enemy,  free  thinking.  Religion 
could  have  been  no  party  in  the  conflict.  She  was  neitlier  a 
sophist  nor  a  poet ;  she  had  little  dealing  with  rhetoric  or  meta- 
physics ;  but  at  last,  when  Hypocrisy  and  Atheism  have  made 
peace,  she  may  come  round  again." 

"  (Zorc? .) — These  small  folks  are  as  much  afraid  of  tlie 

press,  as  Robinson  Crusoe's  man  Friday  was  of  the  musquet,  when 
ne  '  prayed  massa  gun  don't  go  off  and  kill  poor  wild  man.' " 

"  {How  holds  Ireland) — The  upper  orders  gone  and  the  remains 
following.     The  people  agriculturists." 

''  {Agriculture.) — The  mother  and  nurse  of  a  military  popula- 
tion. Ireland  has  been  forced  to  this.  It  was  thought  that  she 
was  sunk  under  the  arbitrary  tyranny  of  British  monoiwly.  Let 
the  proud  Briton  regale  himself  in  the  wholesome  air  of  mines  and 
workshops,  and  become  ossified  in  the  strengthening  attitudes  of 
monotonous  labour,  while  the  degraded  Irishman  draws  healtli 
and  number,  and  fierceness,  and  force,  and  becomes  too  nimble  to 
be  caught  by  his  crippled  owner,  who  hobbles  after  .him  and 
threatens  him  with  his  crutch." 

"  {Irish  administration) — I  should  much  sooner  presume  to 
speak  out  against  the  solid  substance  of  an  English  ministry,  than 
venture  on  a  whisper  against  their  shadows  in  Ireland. 

"  I  know  the  seeming  moderation  of  these  men,  but  I  fear  it  is 
like  the  moderation  of  the  drunkard  who  glories  in  the  sobriety  of 
the  morning ;  who  mistakes  exhaustion  for  contrition,  and  is  vain 
of  reformation  that  stole  upon  him  while  he  slept. 

"  To  inflame  the  puljlic  mind  on  a  point  of  theology,  was  to 
divert  them  from  the  great  point  of  national  oppression  on  which 
the  country  could  not  but  be  unanimous,  and  to  turn  it  to  one  ou 
which  England  would  be  against  us. 


HIS    MANlTERg.  505 

'•  I  do  n'l  hesitate  to  say,  that  a  good  o-o\  «rnment  would  in  a 
week  have  Ireland  tranquil. 

"Puttino-  out  the  law  will  never  do;  hut  here  the  insurrection 
act  was  clearly  a  topic  in  argument,  not  a  measure  of  necessity. 

"  In  all  countries  revolutions  have  been  produced  by  the 
abuses  of  power.  If  you  would  mark  the  process  of  force  look 
to  '98. 

"  The  tyrant  may  say  to  the  slave,  you  are  bound  in  conscience 
to  submit — the  slave  may  put  the  question  to  his  conscience,  and 
receive  a  very  different  answer. 

"  Obedience  is  founded  on  allegiance  and  protection ;  but  if  an 
idea  is  held  out  that  a  nation,  containing  at  least  two-thirds  of  the 
military  population  of  the  empire,  is  to  remain  upon  their  knees 
in  hope  of  the  interval  when  cruelty  and  folly  may  work  them- 
selves to  rest,  and  humanity  and  justice  awaken — I  say,  forbid 
it  the  living  God  !  that  victim  man  should  not  make  his  elec- 
tions between  danger  and  degradatic^n,  and  make  a  struggle 
for  that  freedom,  without  which  the  worship  of  his  name  has  no 
value." 


Mr.  Curran's  manners  were  remarkably  simple  and  unassuming. 
In  his  youth,  before  his  value  was  sufficiently  ascertained  to  procure 
him  unifoiiii  respect,  he  occasionally  exhibited  before  his  superiors 
in  rank  some  signs  of  that  pride  with  wliich  men  of  genius  are  dis- 
posed to  assert  their  dignity ;  he  never  indulged  liowever  in  this  feel- 
ing to  an  offensive  degree.  The  early  and  long  continued  habit  of 
his  mind,  was  to  underrate  his  own  talents  and  importance.  It  was 
only  where  he  imagined  that  some  slight  was  intended,  that  ho 
showed  a  consciousness  of  his  claims;  but  the  occasions  of  excit- 
ing his  vanity  or  indignation  on  tliis  point  entirely  ceasing  as  his 
cliaracter  became  known,  the  feeling  itself  was  soon  extinguished. 

In  his  daily  intercourse,  he  scrupulously  avoided  an  oi'dinaiy 
failing  of  superior  men,  that  of  impressing  upon  less  gifted  pei'sons 

22 


505  LtFE    OF   CUERAlT. 

a  sense  of  their  inferiority.  In  this  departmett  of  the  business  of 
life,  he  eminently  possessed  (to  use  a  favourite  expression  of  his 
own)  that  nice  tact^  which  taught  him  to  accommodate  his  style 
and  sentiments  to  the  vai-ious.  characters  and  capacities  of  those 
with  whom  he  conversed.  However  humble  their  rank  or  pre- 
tensions, he  listened  with  good  humour  to  all  tliey  had  to  otter, 
and  was  never  betrayed  into  a  ridicule  of  those  little  demor.stra- 
tiona  of  vanity  and  self-love,  which  they  who  mix  in  the  world 
have  to  encounter  every  moment. 

In  his  political  relations,  he  was  not  vindictive.  The  prominent 
and  decided  part  which  he  took  in  public  aft'airs  necessarily  invol- 
ved him  in  many  enmities,  which  the  condition  of  the  times,  and 
the  nature  of  the  question  at  issue,  inflamed  into  the  highest  state 
of  exasperation  ;  but  as  soon  as  the  first  fever  of  passion  and  indig- 
nation had  subsided,  he  evinced  a  more  forgiving  disposition  than 
he  found  among  his  opponents.*  In  his  later  years,  he  spoke 
of  the  injuries  which  he  had  sustained  from  Lord  Clare  and  many 
others,  with  a  degree  of  moderation  which  could  scarcely  have 
been  expected  from  a  person  of  his  quick  and  ardent  tempera- 
ment.j 


*  He  w»s  in  principle  a  Whig.  His  passions,  his  habits,  his  friendships,  and  his  educa- 
tion, made  him  so.  He  did  not  obsequiously  follow  any  individual  model  ;  nor  did  he 
on  all  occasions  pursue  the  measures  of  his  party.  He  had  an  abstract  idea  of  what  love 
of  country  should  inspire;  to  this  he  sometimes  referred  his  actions.  If  there  was  any 
one  person  among  those  with  whom  he  acted,  to  whom  he  would  submit  his  judgment  in 
cases  of  doubt  or  of  difficulty,  so  highly  did  he  venerate  Mr.  Fox,  that  his  authority 
would  alone  be  very  likely  to  have  decided  him. — O'Regan. 

+  A  few  years  before  his  death,  Mr.  Curran  strolled  one  day  into  the  Poet's  Corner  ia 
Westminster  Abbey.  As  he  contemplated  the  monuments,  he  became  deeply  afifected  by 
the  spectacle  of  mortaliiy  on  every  side,  and  for  the  moment  dismissing  every  harslier 
feeling,  gave  up  his  mind  to  the  solemn  reflections  which  the  scene  was  calculated  to  in- 
spire. "  The  holy  influence  of  the  spot  (to  adopt  the  words  of  an  illustrious  countryman 
of  his  in  relating  tliis  circumstance)  had  so  subdueil  him,  that  he  began  to  weep."  While 
he  was  in  this  softened  mood,  he  observed  at  a  little  distance  his  old  antagonist,  Doctor 
Duigenan.  Mr.  Curran,  considering  that  they  were  both  to  be  soon  beyond  the  possibility 
of  further  contention,  and  that  no  place  could  be  more  suited  for  the  exchange  of  mutual 
forgiveness,  approached,  and  affection.itely  offered  him  his  hand.  "  I  shall  never  take 
Mr.  Curran's  hand,"  replied  (he  doctor,  and  abruptly  turned  away. — C. 


His    PERSONAL    APPEARANCE.  507 

Mr.  Curran'.s  person  was  sliort,  slender,  and  ungraceful,  resem- 
bling rather  the  form  of  a  youth  not  yet  fully  developed,  tluui  the 
compact  stature  of  a  man.*  His  face  was  as  devoid  of  bcaulv  as 
his  fi'ame.  Ilis  complexion  was  of  that  deep  muddy  tinge  by 
which  Dean  Swift's  is  said  to  have  been  distina-uished.  He  had  a 
dark,  glistening,  intellectual  eye,  high  arched,  and  thicklv  covered 
brows,  strong,  uncurled,  jet-black  hair,  which  lay  flat  upon  his 
forehead  and  temples.  When  his  thoughts  were  unoccupied  (which 
was  rare)  his  features  were  not  particularly  expressive ;  but  the 
moment  he  became  animated,  there  was  a  rush  of  mind  into  his 
countenance  which  dilated  every  fibre,  and  impressed  upon  it  a 
cliaracter  of  peculiar  energy  and  genius. 

[Mr.  Phillips  thus  glances  at  his  appearance  in  1805  ; 

"  Mai'k  well  that  slight  short  figure  with  restless  gait,  and  swaying 
motion,  and  speaking  gesture — he  with  the  ui)lifted  fjice,  protruded 
under  lip,  and  eyes  like  living  diamonds.  See  how  the  young 
men  cluster  round  him.  (Observe  the  spell-bound  ga..e — hark  to 
the  ringing  laughter.  That  is  Curran — the  uiii(|ue,  the  wondrous, 
the  inimitable  Curran — who  spake  as  poets  in  their  inspiration 
wrote,  and  squandered  wit  with  Rabelais  profusion.  Curran,  whose 
words,  merry  or  mournful  as  his  country's  music,  commanded  tears 
or  laughterf  at  his  bidiling.     Curran,  in  evil  cays,  erect  amid  the 

*  O'Regan  says  "  Mi-.  Ciii'i-an  was  in  person  rather  under  tl  e  niiiUlle  stature;  liis  frame 
wiry,  yet  muscular;  and,  UiourIi  tlie  countenance  was  not  prejjossessing,  yet  it  was 
redeemed  by  ttie  eye,  wliich  was  full  of  fire  and  energy;  and  might  be  likened  to  that  of 
Coriolanus,  which  could  have  pierced  a  corslet.  He  often  said  it  would  cost  him  half  an 
hour  more  to  get  at  the  heart  of  his  hearer,  than  it  would  a  handsome  man.  He  was 
always  pleasant  on  the  subject  of  defect  of  beauty  ;  and,  when  in  Parliament,  turned  it 
very  happily  against  anotlier  member.  One  of  the  niesseufrers  brought  in  an  unsealed 
note  from  the  door  of  the  House,  hastily  written,  and  not  addressed  to  any  person.  Mr. 
Curran  looked  at  tlie  back  of  the  iiaper,  and  observed  that  it  was  not  for  him  and  asked 
why  he  had  handed  it  to  him  ?  The  messenger  answered,  by  saying,  the  gentleman  who 
liad  given  it  to  him  was  at  tlie  door ;  that  he  pointed  at  Mr.  Curran,  and  desirei]  him  to 
give  it  to  the  ugliest  genllem;in  in  the  House:  he  directly  pointed  to  the  other  side,  and 
desired  him  to  give  it  Mr. ,  for  it  was  for  him  it  was  intended." 

t  I  never  met  a  person  who  possessed  tins  wonderful  faculty  before.  I-ord  Brougham 
one  day,  in  my  i)resence,  asked    the  late  Dr.  BirUbeck,  who  knew  Curran,  whetlier  mj 


608  LIFE   OF   CtJKJiAN. 

groveling,  pure  amid  the  tainted ;  in  public  life,  the  most  consis- 
tent of  patriots ;  in  private,  the  most  social,  exquisite,  enchanting 
of  companions."] 

Ilis  voice  was  not  naturally  powerful  or  musical ;  but  he  mana- 
ged it  so  skilfully,  that  he  gave  full  expression  to  every  feeling 
and  passion  which  it  had  to  convey.  Its  unrivalled  excellency  lay 
in  com nuuii eating  solemn  and  pathetic  sentiments.  lu  private  and 
sei'ious  conversation,  it  was  remarkable  for  a  certain  plaintive  sin- 
cerity of  tone,  which  incessantly  reminded  those  who  knew  him 
of  the  melancholy  that  predominated  in  his  constitution.  His  de- 
livery, both  in  public  and  private,  was  slow,  and  his  articulation 
uncommonly  distinct.  He  was  scrupulous  in  his  choice  of  words, 
and  often  paused  to  search  for  the  most  expressive.  His  powers 
of  language  and  delivery  were  the  result  of  assiduous  industry  and 
observation.  There  was  notliing,  however  minute,  connected  with 
tlie  subject,  which  he  deemed  beneath  his  attention.* 

It  is  perhaps  time  to  close  this  account ;  yet  as  many  might 
feel  disappointed  at  the  omission  of  those  minuter  traits  which 
render  the  individual  still  more  peculiar  and  distinct,  and  bring 
him  into  a  kind  of  jiersonal  acquaintance  with  those  who  never 
saw  him,  some  passing  notice  shall  be  taken  of  the  more  striking 

estimate  of  hira  was  not  exa<rgerated.  "  All  I  can  say,"  was  the  answer,  "  is,  that  for  the 
five  weeks  he  and  I  lodged  together  in  Paris  during  the  peace  of  Amiens,  there  were  not 
five  consecutive  minutes  within  which  he  could  not  make  me  both  laugh  and  cry  .'"  Tea 
years  later.  Lord  Bjron  says  of  hira,  "I  have  met  Curran  at  Holland  House.  He  beats 
every  body.  His  imagination  is  beyond  human,  and  his  humor  (it  is  difficult  to  define 
what  is  wit)  perfect.  He  has  fifty  faces,  and  twice  as  many  voices,  when  he  mimics.  1 
n<:'Eer  met  his  equal."  Again  :  "  Curran  !  Curran's  the  man  who  struck  me  most.  Such 
imagination  !  There  never  was  any  thing  like  it.  He  was  wonderful  even  to  me  who  had 
seen  many  remarkable  men  of  the  time.  The  riches  of  his  Irish  imagination  were 
cxhaustless.  /have  hea)-d  that  man.  speak  more  poet:'!/  than  I  have  ever  seen  written, 
thourjh  1  saw  him  seldom,  and  but  occasionally.^^ 

*  He  sometimes  mispronounced  the  word  "  tribunal,"  throwing  the  accent  upon  the  first 
syllable.  When  reminded  of  the  error,  he  alleged  in  his  e.'ccuse,  that,  having  once  heard 
the  word  so  pronounced  by  Lord  Moira,  whom  he  considered  a  model  of  classical  pro- 
nunciation, he  adopted  his  method ;  and,  though  subsequently  aware  of  the  incorrect- 
pess,  unconsciously  repeated  it. — C. 


HIS   OKDINAKY    HAEITS.  509 

features  of  this  subordinate  class,  wliicli  sejjarated  Mr.  Curran  from 
other  men. 

One  of  his  great  peculiarities  was,  that,  in  the  most  trivial  things, 
he  was  peculiar.     He  did  not  sit  in  his  chair  like  other  persons  :  he 
was  perpetually  changing  his  position,  tin-owing  himself  into  atti- 
tudes of  thinking,  and  betraying,  hy  the  most  incessant  play  of  shift- 
ing expressions  on  his  countenance,  that  there  was  something  with- 
in wliich  was  impatient  of  repose.     It  was  the  same  when  he 
walked  or  rode.     Lung  before  his  features  could  be  discerned,  his 
friends  recognized  him  from  afar  b}'  the  back  of  his  hand  firmly 
compressed  upon  the  hip.  his  head  raised  towards  the  sky,  and 
momentarily  turning  round,  as  if  searching  for  objects  of  obser- 
vation ;  01',  if  he  was  in  conversation,  by  the  earnest  waving  of  his 
body,  and  the  fervour  of  his  gesticulation.     These  were  the  exter- 
nal signs  of  that  latent  impulse  which  was  the  source  of  his  genius. 
(.)ne  of  the  most  extraordinary  circumstances  in  his  constitution 
was  the  length  of  time  to  which  this  impulse  could  continue  to 
act  with  undiminished  force.     He  used  to  assure  his  intimates,  that, 
long  after  the  body's  exhaustion  had  incapacitated  him  for  farther 
exertion,  he  felt  a  consciousness  that  the  vigour  of  his  mind  was 
unimpaired.     Even  his  capacity  of  dispensing  with  bodily  rest,  con- 
sidering the  apparent  delicacy  of  his  frame,  was  surprising.     Dur- 
ing the  more  active  period  of  his  life,  he  frequently  sacrificed  a 
night's  rest  with   impuiuty.     After  passing  the  day  in  his  pro- 
fessional occupations,  and  one  half  of  the  night  in  the  House  of 
(Commons,  and  the  other  in  the  convivial  meetings  of  the  leaders 
i>f  his  party,  he  re-appeared  on  the  succeeding  morning  in  the 
courts,  as  fresh  for  the  ensuing  labours  of  the  day  as  if  he  had 
s[)ent  the  interval  in  renovating  sleep.     There  were,  in  his  more 
ordinary  habits,  many  similar  indications  thai   his  fi.une  was,  as  it 
were,  overcharged  wilh  life     In  his  conversation   his  fancy  gene- 
laliv  became  more  brilliant  as  the  niMit  advanrcl.     He  retired  to 
bed  with  reluctance ;  and  his  friends  often  remai-kcd,  that  he  was 
seldom  so  eloquent  and  fascinating  as  after  he  had  risen  from  his 


510  LIFE   OF   CUEKAN. 

chair,  momentarily  about  to  depart,  but  still  lingering  and  delight- 
ing them — "indulgens  animo,  pes  tardus  erat."  In  his  own  house, 
after  his  guests  had  retired  to  their  chambers,  he  seized  any  excuse 
for  following  one  of  them,  and  renewing  the  conversation  for 
another  hour ;  and  the  person  thus  intruded  upon  seldom  con- 
sidered himself  the  least  fortunate  of  the  party.  It  appears  from 
all  this,  that  Mr.  Curran  was  not  much  addicted  to  sleep.  One 
reason  why  his  frame  required  so  little  may  have  been  that  his  sleep 
was  generally  most  profound,  and  uninterrupted  by  dreams.  The 
latter  circumstance  he  often  regretted,  for  he  was  inclined  to  think 
that  the  throng  of  fantastic .  ideas  which  present  themselves  in 
dreams  might,  if  carefully  attended  to,  have  supplied  him  with 
new  sources  of  poetic  imagery. 

In  his  diet  he  was  constitutionally  temperate :  lie  ate  little, 
artd  was  extremely  indifferent  regarding  the  quality  of  his  fare. 
For  the  greater  part  of  his  life  he  was  subject  to  a  debility  of  the 
stomach,  which,  though  it  could  scarcely  be  called  a  disease,  was 
yet  so  permanent  as  to  be  the  source  of  the  utmost  inconvenience. 
Whenever  dinner  was  delayed  beyond  the  expected  time,*  the 
irritation  of  his  stomach  became  so  intolerable,  that  he  was 
frequently  obliged  to  retire  altogether  from  the  company.  From 
his  attachment  to  the  pleasures  of  convivial  society,  he  was  sup- 
posed to  have  been  addicted  to  wine  ;  but  the  fact  was  that  a  very 
small  quantity  excited  him ;  and,  whenever  he  drank  to  any 
excess  (as  was  sometimes  the  case  in  large  companies)  it  was 
rather  mechanically  and  from  inattention  than  from  choice. 
When  left  to  his  natural  propensities,  he  was  almost  as  temperate 
in  this  respect  as  in  his  food.  At  Ms  own  table  he  was  hospitable 
and  unceremonious.     In  every  transaction  of  common  life,  he  dis- 


*  He  insisted,  at  home  and  abroad,  on  dining  at  five  o'clock.  On  the  contrary,  Toler 
(Lrrd  Norbury)  lilied  to  dine  late.  One  day,  Mr.  Toler  was  going  to  take  his  ride,  and 
meeting  Mr.  Curran  walking  towards  his  house  to  dine,  passingly  said,  "Do  not  forget, 
Curran,  you  dine  with  ine  to-day  ;"  "  I  rather  fear,  my  friend,"  replied  Mr.  Curran,  "  it 
js  you  who  may  forget  it." — M. 

N 


TEAITS    OF   CHAEACTER.  511 

liked  and  despised  the  affectation  of  state.  His  maxim  was,  that 
the  festive  board  should  be  a  little  republic,  where  the  host,  hav- 
ing previously  provided  whatever  was  necessary  for  the  general 
interest,  should  appear  with  no  greater  privileges  or  responsibili- 
ties than  a  guest. 

From  the  same  distaste  to  show,  he  was  always  remarkable  for 
the  plainness,  and  even  negligence,  of  his  external  dress ;  but  ho 
paid  the  most  sci'upulous  attention  to  personal  cleanliness.  His 
regular  custom  was  to  plunge  evely  morning  when  he  rose  into 
cold  water.  It  may  be  generally  added,  that  in  all  his  ordinary 
habits,  in  hi.s  house,  his  equipage,  his  style  of  living,  of  travelling, 
&c. — the  same  republican  simijlicity  prevailed.  During  the  two 
or  three  last  years  of  his  life,  he  might  often  be  seen,  on  the  road 
between  London  and  Cheltenham,  seated  outside  one  of  the  public 
coaches,  and  engage<.l  in  familiar  conversation  with  the  other 
passengers. 

His  constitutional  tendency  to  melancholy  has  been  already 
noticed ;  yet,  in  the  familiar  intercourse  of  daily  life,  the  promi- 
nent characteristic  of  his  mind  was  its  incessant  playfulness — a 
quality  which  I'endered  his  society  peculiarly  acceptable  among 
females  and  young  persons.  He  took  great  delight  in  conversing 
with  little  children,  whom  he  generally  contrived  to  lead  into  the 
most  exquisitely  comical  dialogues.  He  was  fond  of  giving 
ludicrous  appellations  to  the  places  and  persons  ai'ound  him.  His 
friend  Mr.  Hudson  the  dentist's  house  was  built  in  "the  Tus- 
can order" — a  celebrated  snuft-manufjicturer's  country-seat  was 
"  Sneeze-town  " — the  libraries  at  watering-places  wei-e  "  slopshops 
of  litei-ature."  He  called  a  commander  of  yeomanry  (who  dealt 
largely  in  flour)  "  Marshal  Sacks  " — a  lawyer,  of  a  corpulent  frame, 
"Grotius" — another,  who  had  a  habit  of  swelling  out  his  cheeks. 
"  Puffendoi'f"  He  often  humorously  remonstrated  with  a  friend, 
who  was  of  a  very  tall  stature,  ami  with  whom,  as  one  of  his 
"  very  longest  acquaintances,"  he  used  that  freedom,  "  upon  his 
w?int  of  decorum  in  going  about  and  peeping  down  the  chimnies, 


512  LIFE   OF   CUKRAN. 

to  see  what  his  neigliboiirs  were  to  have  for  dinner."  This  list 
might  be  extended  to  a  greater  length  than  would  be  necessary 
or  suitable. 

In  speaking  of  Mr.  Curran's  literary  habits,  it  should  have 
been  mentioned  that  he  was,  for  the  greater  part  of  his  life,  an 
ardent  reader  of  novels.*  In  his  earlier  years,  it  was  his  regular 
custom  to  have  one  under  his  pillow,  with  which  he  commenced 
and  closed  the  reading  of  the  day.  His  sensibility  to  the  interest 
of  such  works  was  so  excessive,  as  to  be  scarcely  crc.diblo  by  those 
who  never  saw  him  sobbing,  almost  to  suffocation,  over  the 
pathetic  details  of  Ricliardson,|  or  in  more  extravagant  parox- 
ysms of  laughter  at  the  ludicrous  descriptions  of  Cervantes.  There 
was  a  kind  of  infantile  earnestness  in  his  preference  of  anything  ol 
this  sort  which  struck  his  fency;  for  days  it  would  usurp  his 
thoughts  and  conversation.  When  the  translation  of  the  Sorrows 
of  Werter  first  appeared,  he  was  for  ever  repeating  and  praising 
some  l^ivourite  passages,J  and  calling  upon  every  friend  that 
chanced  to  visit  him  to  join  in  the  eulogy,  with  all  the  impatience 
of  a  child  to  display  a  new  toy  to  his  companions. 

Such  were  his  excellencies,  or  his  harmless  peculiarities,  and  the 
office  of  enumerating  them  has  been  easy  and  attractive.  But 
biography,  if  the  fidelity  to  truth  which  it  demands  be  too  rigidly 
exacted,  may  become  a  harsh  task,  converting  a  friend,  or  one 
nearer  than  a  friend,  unto  the  ungracious  character  of  an  accuser. 
Every  lover  of  genius  would  wish  that  this  account  of  Mr.  Curran's 
life  might  here  have  closed  without  rendering  it  liable  to  the  charge 
of  having  suppressed  any  circumstance  which  it  would  not  have 


*  So  was  O'Connell,  all  his  life. — M. 

t  Particularly  the  will  of  Clarissa  Harlowe,  which  he  considered  a  masterpiece  of 
pathos — C. 

i  Among  them  was  the  following,  from  one  of  Werter's  letters — "When  in  the  fine 
evenings  of  the  summer  you  walls  towards  the  mountains,  think  of  me  ;  recollect  the  time 
you  have  so  often  seen  me  come  up  from  the  valley  ;  raise  your  eyes  to  the  churchyard 
that  contains  my  grave,  and,  by  the  light  of  the  departing  sun,  see  how  the  evening 
breeze  waves  the  high  grass  which  grows  oveir  me." — C. 


HIS   CHARACTER.  513 

been  to  the  interest  of  his  name  to  have  disclosed.  But  the  ques- 
tion will  be  asked,  has  this  been  a  faithful  picture  ? — Have  no  shades 
been  designedly  omitted?— Has  delicacy  or  flattery  concealed  no 
defects,  without  which  the  resemblance  cannot  be  true  ?  To  such 
inquiries  it  is  answered,  that  the  estimable  qualities,  which  have 
formed  the  preceding  description,  have  not  been  invented  or  exag- 
gerated; and  if  the  person,  who  has  assumed  the  duty  of  collect- 
ing them,  has  abstained  fi'ora  a  rigorous  detail  of  any  infirmities 
of  temper  or  conduct,  it  is  because  a  feeling  more  sacred  and 
more  justifiable  than  delicacy  or  flattery  has  taught  him,  and 
should  teach  others,  to  regard  them  with  tenderness  and  regret. 
In  thus  abstaining  from  a  cruel  and  unprofitable  analysis  of  fail- 
ings, to  which  the  most  gifted  are  often  the  most  prone,  no 
deception  is  intended.  It  is  due  to  that  public  to  whom  Mr. 
Curran's  merits  have  been  here  submitted  as  deservino-  their 
approbation,  to  admit  with  candour  that  some  particulars  have 
been  withheld  which  they  would  not  have  approved  ;  but  it  is  also 
due  to  his  memory  to  declare,  that  in  balancing  the  conflicting 
elements  of  his  character,  what  was  virtuous  and  amiable  will  be 
found  to  have  largely  preponderated.  He  was  not  perfect;  but 
his  imperfections  have  a  peculiar  claim  ui)C)n  our  forbearance,  when 
■we  reflect  that  they  sprung  from  the  same  source  as  his  genius,  and 
may  be  considered  as  almost  the  inevitable  condition  upon  which 
that  order  of  genius  can  be  held.  Their  source  was  in  his  imagi- 
nation. The  same  ardour  and  sensibility  which  rendered  him  so 
eloquent  an  advocate  of  others,  impelled  him  to  talce  too  impas- 
sioned and  irritating  views  of  questions  that  personally  related  to 
himself.  The  mistakes  of  conduct  into  which  this  impetuosity  of 
temperament  betrayed  him  cannot  be  defended  by  this  or  by  any 
other  explanation  of  their  oi'igin,  yet  it  is  nnudi  to  be  able  to  say 
that  they  were  almos^  ^vehisively  confined  to  a  single  relation,  and 
that  those  who  in  consequence  suft'ei-ed  most,  but  who,  from  their 
intimate  connexion  with  him,  knew  him  best,  saw  so  many  redeem- 

22* 


514  LIFE   OF   CUEKAN. 

ing  qualities  in  his  nature,  tliat  they  uniformly  considered  any 
exclusion,  from  his  regard  no  so  much  in  the  light  of  an  injustice, 
as  of  a  personal  misfortune. 

There  was  a  time  when  such  considerations  would  have  failed  to 
appease  his  numerous  accusers,  who,  under  the  vulgar  pretext  of 
moral  indignation,  were  relentlessly  taking  vengeance  on  his  public 
virtues  by  assiduous  and  exaggerated  statements  of  private  errors, 
which,  had  he  been  one  of  the  enemies  of  his  country,  they  would 
have  been  the  first  to  screen  or  justify.     But  it  is  hoped,  that  he 
was  not  deceiving  himself  when  he  anticipated  that  the  term  of 
their  hostility  would  expire  as  soon  as  he  should  be  removed  be- 
yond  its  reach.     "  The  charity  of  the  survivors  (to  use  his  own 
expressions)  looks  at  the  failings  of  the  dead  through  an  inverted 
glass ;  and  slander  calls  otl'  the  pack  from  a  chase  in  which,  when 
there  can  be  no  pain,  there  can  be  no  sport ;  nor  will  memory  weigh 
their  merits  with  a  niffo-ard  steadiness  of  hand."     But  even  should 
this  have  been  a  delusive  expectation — should  the  grave  which  now 
covers  him  prove  an  unrespected  barrier  against  the  assaults  of 
political  hatred,  there  will  not  be  wanting  many  of  more  generous 
minds,  who  loved  and  admired  him,  to  rally  round  his  memory  from 
the  grateful  conviction  that  his  titles  to  his  country's  esteem  stand 
in  defiance  of  every  imperfection,  of  which  his  most  implacable 
revilers  can  accuse  him.     As  long  as  Ireland  retains  any  sensibility 
to  public  worth,  it  will  not  be  forgotten,  that  (whatever  wayward- 
ness he  may  have  shown  towards  some,  and  those  a  very  few)  she 
had,  in  every  vicissitude,  the  unpurchased  and  most  unmeasured 
benefit  of  his  affections  and  his  virtues.     This  is  his  claim  and  his 
pi-otection  ;  that  having  by  his  talents  raised  himself  from  an  hum- 
ble condition  to  a  station  of  high  trust  and  innumerable  temptations, 
he  held  himself  erect  in  servile  times,  and  has  left  an  example  of 
political  honour,  upon  which  the  most  scrutinizing  malice  cannot 
detect  a  stain.     Nor  will  it  be  deemed  an  inconsiderable  merit  to 
bave  thus,  wi'-.hout  fortune  or  connexions,  forced  his  way  into  a 


HIS   EMINENCE.  515 

situation  of  sucli  responsibility.  "  He  that  seeketh  to  bo  eminent 
amongst  able  men  (said  the  ablest  of  men)  hath  a  great  task."  * 
This  task  Mr.  Curran  fullilled.  In  the  a^enerous  struorrrle  for 
distinction,  he  was  surrounded,  not  by  a  race  of  puny  compe- 
titors, whom  accident  or  wealth  had  lifted  above  their  sphere,  but 
by  men  of  surpassing  vigour,  in  whose  ranks  none  but  athletic 
minds  could  be  enrolled.  Flood,  Yelverton,  Daly,  Burgh,  Perry, 
Forbes,  Ponsonby,  and,  to  crown  the  list,  their  leader  and  solitary 
survivor,  Henry  Grattan,j- — these,  all  of  them  great  names,  and 
worthy  of  tlieir  country's  lasting  pride,  were  the  objects  of  his 
honourable  emulation,  and  to  have  been  rewarded  by  their  appro- 
Ivition,  and  admitted  an  associate  of  their  labours,  is  in  itself  an 
evidence  of  his  value,  which  neither  praises  can  increase,  nor 
envy  take  away. 


♦  Bacon's  Essays. 

+  Henry  Grattan  died  (soon  after  the  above  was  written)  on  June  4, 1820.     He  wua 
UitcTcd  in  Westminster  Abbey,  next  to  Fox. — M. 


APPENDIX. 


ANECDOTES  OF  CURRAN  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 

When  Mr.  Curran  was  iu  Trinity  College,  Dublin,  he  was  summoued  1/y 
the  Board  of  Senior  Fellows  (the  moral  and  literary  censors  of  the 
University)  and  stood  before  them  in  all  that  may  be  conceived  lachrymose 
in  feature,  penitent  in  exterior,  yet  internally  unmoved.  After  a  long 
lecture,  delivered  in  Hebrew,  and  explained  into  Greek,  the  accusation 
amounted  in  plain  English  to  this,  that  he  "  kept  idle  women  in  his 
chambers,"  and  concluded  according  to  the  form  of  the  statute  and  good 
morals.  He  saw  he  had  no  way  to  escape  but  by  the  exercise  of  his  wit, 
and  Bolemnly  assured  them  that  the  accusation  was  utterly  unfounded,  as 
he  never  in  his  life  kept  any  woman  idle  in  his  rooms. 

Bills  of  indictment  had  been  sent  up  to  a  Grand  Jury,  in  the  finding  of 
which  Mr.  Curran  was  interested.  After  delay  and  much  hesitation,  one 
of  the  Grand  Jurors  came  into  court  to  explain  to  the  Judge  the  grounds 
and  reasons  why  it  was  ignored.  Mr.  Curran,  very  much  vexed  by  (he 
stupidity  of  this  person,  said,  "You,  Sir,  can  have  no  objection  to  write 
upon  the  back  of  the  bill,  ignoramus,  for  self  and  fellow  jurors  ;  it  will 
then  be  a  true  bill." 

When  the  habeas  corpus  suspension  act  passed,  some  time  before  the 
year  1798,  some  person  arguing  for  the  propriety  and  necessity  of  that 
law,  had  thrown  out  doctrines  and  opinions  unfavourable  to  the  freedom 
of  the  constitution  ;  he,  whose  countenance  and  doctrines  were  by  no 
means  agreeable  to  his  hearers,  was  opposed  by  one  of  them,  who  said, 
"  Were  you  incarcerated  for  six  months  under  this  law  you  so  much  extol, 
I  should  be  glad  to  see  how  you  would  look.'^  On  which  Mr.  Curraa 
observed,  "Perhaps  he  would  lot  look  a  bit  the  worse^ 


618  APPEUDET. 

A  member  of  tbe  last  Irish  parliament,  who  had  held  'jne  of  the  highest 
law  offices  under  the  crown,  all  on  a  sudden  came  over  to  that  party  who 
opposed  the  Union,  voted  against  that  measure,  and  lost  his  office,  not 
without  much  regret.  Some  person  speaking  of  his  conduct  on  this 
occasion,  extolled  it  highly,  and  observed,  that  he  had  made  great  sacri- 
fices for  his  country's  good,  and  had  proved  himself  a  sincere  patriots 
"Sincere!  no,"  said  Mr.  Curran,  "he  Is  a  sorry  patriot."' 

A  learned  serjeant,  whose  promotion  to  the  bench  was  daily  expected, 
happened  to  be  rather  tedious  in  the  statement  of  a  case  on  trial  before 
one  of  the  cliief  judges,  who,  anxious  for  compression,  observed  to  tec 
Serjeant,  that  when  he  came  to  administer  justice,  he  would  then  know  the 
value  of  time.  A  gentleman  well  known  for  his  humour,  and  not  having 
much  esteem  for  the  judge,  in  relating  the  matter,  gave  quite  another 
turn  to  it  by  omitting  the  word  administer  ;  "  When  you  come  to  justice 
you  will  then  know  the  value  of  time." 

Whenever  any  barrister  is  promoted,  it  Is  a  rule  on  circuit  that  he  shall 
Bend  to  the  bar  mess,  at  least  a  dozen  of  claret,  to  drink  his  health.  A 
gentleman,  not  very  much  distinguished  for  ability,  was  recently  appointed 
to  one  of  the  county  chairs,  and  his  claret  was  announced  in  these  words . 

"  This  is  Mr. 's  health,  and  may  he  live  long  to  administer  justice, 

as  I  am  sure  he  will,  indifferently .'" 

A  barrister  whom  Mr.  Curran  very  much  esteemed  for  many  amiable 
qualities,  among  others,  for  a  fine  temper  and  good  nature,  dining  with 
him,  was  asked  to  be  helped  to  green  gooseberries  and  cream ;  he  said  hci 
liked  them  very  much,  but  feared,  if  he  ate  of  them,  he  might  be  called, 
as  Dr.  Goldsmith  was,  a  gooseberry  fool.  Mr.  Curran  said,  "  Take  the 
gooseberries,  my  friend,  and  the  milk  of  human  kindness  which  so  abun- 
dantly flows  round  your  heart,  will  soon  make  a  fool  of  them." 

During  Lord  Westmoreland's  administration,  when  a  number  of  new 
corps  were  raised  in  Ireland  (and  given  as  jobs  and  political  favours,)  it 
was  observed  that  when  inspected  there,  the  establishment  of  eash  regi- 
ment was  nominally  reported  to  be  complete  at  embarkation  for  England, 
but  whep  lauded  at  the  other  side,  many  of  them  had  not  a  quarter  of 
their  numbers.  "  No  wonder,"  said  Mr.  Curran,  "  for  after  being  mus- 
tered, they  are  afraid  of  being  peppered,  and  off  they  fly,  not  wishing  to 
pay  for  the  roast ." 


ANECDOTES    OF   CUKRAN.  619 

Mr.  Joseph  Atkinson  and  Mr.  Curran  went  on  a  visit  to  Scotland,  whore 
they  passed  a  day  with  the  family  of  Lord  Boyle  :  Lady  Charlotte  Bojle, 
the  sister  of  Lord  Hopetown,  asked  Mr.  Curran  what  he  thou^^it  of  Eldin- 
burgh  ?  "I  think,  Madam,"  said  he,  "  speaking  of  the  Ancient  and  New 
Town,  it  is  like  an  old  gentleman  married  to  a  blooming  young  bride;  he 
vcjierably  loves  and  protects  her,  whilst  she  graces  his  side  by  her  beauty 
and  elegant  attractio'is." 

A  per-son  ob.serving  iow  many  new  houses  were  erecting  in  Dublin,  said, 
•'  What  will  they  cell  end  in  V  Mr.  Curran  replied,  "  they  must  end  in 

On  Mr.  Curran's  visit  into  Scotland,  he  heard  that  the  priest  of  the 
temple  of  Hymen  at  Gretna  Green  no  longer  forged  the  chains  of  wed- 
lock;  that  he  was  not  now  a  blacksmith,  but  a  tobacconist.  Mr.  Curran 
said,  '-.So  much  the  better,  for  he  will  make  the  happy  couple  give  quid  for 
quo." 

Mr.  Egan  the  lawyer,  when  chairman  of  Kilmainham.  had  entertained 
expectations  that  he  would  be  thence  promoted  to  a  seat  on  the  bench ;  he 
was  perceived  by  Mr.  Curran  to  liave  paid  great  attention  to  some  beauti- 
ful woman  ;  and  his  principles  not  being  exactly  of  the  Joseph  character, 
he  was  jocosely  charged  by  Mr.  Curran  as  to  the  motives.  Egan,  fearing 
that  his  immorality  might  become  an  impediment  to  his  advancement, 
Lord  Manners  being  at  the  head  of  the  law  department,  said,  "I  am 
free  to  confess  I  am  not  restrained  by  morals,  but  by  Manners.''^  "You 
should  rather  have  said,'"  observed  Mr.  Curran,  "  that  your  bad  manners 
are  restrained  by  his  good  morals." 

Of  some  attorney,  whose  character  for  litigation  fame  dealt  severely 
with,  Mr.  Curran  observed,  that  every  one's  hand  was  raised  against  him. 
and  his  against  every  one.  And  he  thought  him  like  a  rat  which  had 
got  under  the  chairs,  where  every  one  made  a  blow  at  him,  but  no  one 
could  hit  him. 

Some  time  after  the  Union,  Mr.  Curran  was  walking  bj  the  Parliament 
House  with  a  certain  member,  a  friend  of  his,  who  had  supported  that 
measure  ;  this  gentleman  observed  that  he  never  passed  that  hou.se 
without  the  deepest  melancholy  and  regret.  "  I  do  not  wonder  at  it," 
said  Mr.  Curran,  "  I  never  knew  a  man  who  had  committed  murder,  who 
\=as  not  hiunted  by  the  ghost  of  the  murdered  whenever  he  caiiw  to 
the  spot  at  which  the  foul  deed  wob  done." 


520  APPENDIX. 

In  Ireland  they  have  a  good-natured,  familiar,  open  nianuer  af  friendly 
intercourse,  which  enters  frequently  into  the  most  serious  and  solemn 
affairs.  A  gentleman  of  the  age  of  thirty,  about  four  feet  high,  and  quite 
a  boy  in  appearance,  for  want  of  accommodation  in  a  very  crowded  court, 
in  the  county  of  Kerry,  got  into  the  jury-box.  He  was  very  much  beloved, 
and  being  too  low  to  peep  over  the  box,  perched  himself  on  the  brawny 
.shoulders  of  one  of  the  jurors.  In  the  progress  of  the  trial  it  was  observed, 
tljat  there  were  thirteen  persons  in  the  box.  This  created  some  co-nfusion, 
and  it  was  objected,  that  it  would  be  a  ground  to  sot  aside  the  verdict. 
Mr.  Curran  said  that,  considering  the  difficulty  of  the  question,  the  jurors 
were  right  in  putting  as  many  heads  together  as  they  could  ;  but  be  that 
as  it  may,  the  verdict  would  not  be  endangered,  for  it  would  be  secured 
by  the  maxim  of  the  law,  which  says,  "  de  minimis  non  curat  lex.^' 

Of  some  learned  Serjeant,  who  had  given  a  confused,  elaborate,  and 
tedious  explanation  of  some  point  of  law,  he  observed,  that  whenever  that 
grave  counsellor  endeavoured  to  unfold  a  principle  of  law  he  put  him  in 
mind  of  a  fool  whom  he  once  saw  struggling  for  a  whole  day  to  open  au 
oyster  with  a  rolling  pin. 

He  said  of  a  busy,  bustling,  garrulous  lawyer,  that  he  always  thought 
him  like  a  counsellor  in  a  play,  where  all  was  stage-trick,  bustle,  or  scene- 
shifting. 

In  cross-examining  an  old  clergyman  whose  evasions  of  truth  were  dis- 
graceful to  him,  Mr.  Curran  closed  with  this  question,  "Doctor,  when  yoa 
last  put  your  spectacles  in  the  Bilfle,  give  me  leave  to  ask  you,  did  you 
close  it  on  that  passage  which  says  '  T/iou  shah  not  bear  false  witness 
against  thy  neighbour  V  " 

He  told  an  anecdote  of  an  Irish  tenant  in  Kerry,  who  came  to  pay  his 
rent  of  £500,  and  the  lady  of  the  house  perceiving  he  had  a  propensity  to 
play,  she  being  very  ugly,  of  a  musty,  dingy  countenance,  ^\ith  a  bad 
squint,  and  who  never  looked  straightly  at  any  object  but  a  pack  of  cards, 
or  the  money  set  on  the  game,  she  prevailed  on  him,  however,  to  play, 
till  he  had  lost  all  his  money,  and  she  still  continued  to  encourage  him, 
relying  on  his  honour  now  that  his  money  was  lost.  At  length,  fixing  his 
eyes  fiercely  on  her,  he  excused  himself,  declaring  in  a  decided  tone,  that 
he  would  play  no  more  with  her  ladyship,  for  that  she  had  the  d-jvila' 
look  [luck]  and  her  own. 


.^  Aiii'ECDOTES   OB'  CtJKKAN.  §21 

Such  was  the  effect  of  Mr.  Curran's  pleasantry,  that  even  on  ordinary 
occasions,  servants  in  attending  on  the  table  often  becam-e  suspended,  lilie 
the  bucliot  in  the  well,  and  frequently  started  as  if  from  a  reverie,  when 
called  upo<i  for  the  ordinary  attendance.  Sometimes  a  wine  glass  could  not 
be  had,  or  if  asked  for,  a  liuife  or  fork  was  presented  in  its  place  ;  their  faces 
turned  away,  you  heard  nothing  but  the  breaks  of  a  suppressed  laugh- 
ter. He  had  a  favourite  black  servant  who  lived  with  him  for  many  years, 
aud  to  whom,  for  hi.-^  great  fidelity,  Mr.  Curran  was  very  much  attached. 
This  poor  fellow  was  observed  for  a  few  days  before  his  departure,  to  have 
been  oppressed  with  gloom  and  sadness,  the  cause  of  which  was  not  directly 
enquired  into.  One  morning,  whilst  in  this  state,  he  came  up  anxiously  to 
his  master,  and  with  apparent  regret  and  an  air  of  much  dejection  requested 
to  be  discharged.  Mr.  Curran  told  him  he  was  very  nuicli  concerned  to 
lose  the  services  of  so  faithful  a  person,  that  he  had  a  strong  regard  for 
him  ;  and  on  enquiring  into  the  reason  of  iiis  desir(!  to  leave  him.  tlie  black 
replied,  "  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  remain  longer  with  you,  massa." 
"  Why,  my  good  fellow,  we  will  see  all  care  taken  of  you."  "  No  mas.sa, 
I  cannot  live  longer  with  you,  I  am  losing  my  health  with  you,  you  make 
me  laugh  too  much." 

A  brother  barrister  of  his,  remarkable  for  having  a  perpetuity  in  dirty 
shirts,  was  drily  asked  in  the  presence  of  Mr.  Curran,  "  Pray,  my  dear  Bob, 
how  do  you  get  so  many  dirty  shirts?"  Mr.  Curran  replied  for  him,  "I 
can  easily  account  for  it;  his  laundress  lives  at  Holyhead,  and  there  are 
nine  packets  always  due."  Tliis  gentleman  wishing  to  travel  to  Cork 
during  the  rebellion,  but  apprehensive  he  should  be  known  by  the  rebels, 
was  advised  to  proceed  incog.,  which  he  said  was  easily  ett'ected,  for  by  dis- 
guising himself  in  a  clean  shirt,  no  one  would  know  him. 

Of  the  same  gentleman,  who  was  a  sordid  miser,  it  was  told  Mr.  Currau 
that  he  had  set  out  from  Cork  to  Dublin,  with  one  shirt,  and  one  guinea. 
"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Curran,  "  aud  I  will  answer  for  it,  he  will  change  neither 
of  them  till  he  returns." 

Going  to  dine  in  the  country  with  the  late  .Judge  Fletcher,  he  had  arriv- 
ed early  enough  to  take  a  walk  in  the  garden;  Mr.  Fleteliir's  country 
scat  is  separated  from  a  public  road  by  a  stone  wall,  wiiieh  having  fallen 
in  during  a  severe  winter,  the  gardens  were  thereby  left  open  to  the  dust 
of  the  road  :  it  was  now  the  month  of  April,  and  Mr.  Flelclier  was  ol)S'>rv- 
ing  on  the  rows  of  brocoli,  which  he  said  were  very  backward,  and 


522  APPENDIX. 

scarcely  to  be  seeu.  though  they  had  been  carefully  drilled.  Od  which 
Mr.  Curran  o-bserved,  "It  is'very  true,  but  consider,  they  have  beeu  much 
exposed  to  the  dust,  and  look  as  if  they  had  been  after  a  long  marcJiJ^ 
This  sally  it  is  said  to  have  cost  the  judge  more  than  he  calculated  upou, 
as  he  immediately  raised  the  wall  six  feet  higher. 

Lord  Avonmore  supported  the  measure  of  the  Union,  it  is  supposed,  as 
the  result  of  his  judgement ;  Mr.  Curran  opposed  it.  It  was  said,  in  gra- 
titude for  this,  the  lord  obtained  from  the  crown  an  office  of  considerable 
emolument.*  When  the  draught  of  the  patent  was  sent  to  him  for  his 
approbation,  he  called  into  his  study  a  few  of  his  friends,  among  the  rest, 
I\lr.  Curran,  to  see  if  all  was  right.  The  wording  ran  in  the  usual  form  ; 
"  To  all  to  whom  these  lettei-s  patent  shall  come,  greeting,  &c  &c.  we  of 
the  vniteil  kingdom  of  Great  Ik'itain  and  Ireland,  king,  &c.  &c.  ;"  Mr. 
Curran,  when  the  reader  came  to  this  part,  exclaimed,  "  Stop  Stop  V 
"  My  God !"  said  Lord  Avonmore  impatiently,  "  why  stop  ?"  "  Why  ?  be- 
cause," said  Mr.  Curran,  "  it  sets  out  the  consideration  too  early  in  the 
deed." 

Mv.  Curran  made  occasional  visits  into  France,  where  he  met  with  many 
of  those  most  celebrated  for  genius  and  letters;  among  others  he  became 
acquainted  with  the  Abbe  Sicard,  and  returned  him  thanks  in  the  name 
of  human  nature  for  the  good  he  had  done  to  mankind.  He  was  also 
well  known  to  Madame  De  Stii'^l,  and  his  account  of  her  accords  with 
what  has  long  before  been  known  to  the  public.  He  conversed  with  her, 
and  though  her  face  was  by  no  means  prepossessing,  he  describes  her  as 
having  the  power  of  talking  herself  into  a  beauty. 

A  barrister  entered  one  of  the  Four  Courts,  Dublin,  with  bis  wig  so 
much  awry  as  to  cause  a  general  titter.  Seeing  Curran  smile,  he  said,  "  Do 
you  see  any  thing  ridiculous  in  my  wig  ?"  "  No,"  replied  Curran, 
"  nothing  but  the  head." 


*  At  the  Union,  Lord  AvonmoTe  (who  voted  for  it),  was  elevated  in  the  peerage  from  the 
rank  of  Baron  to  that  of  Viscount,  and  received  a  patent  (probably  the  document  above 
named)  appointing  him  Piincipal  Registrar  of  the  Irish  Court  of  Chancery,  with  a  sahiry 
of  4199^.  and  succession  to  his  son,  by  whom  it  is  received  to  this  hour.  By  this  Lord 
Avonmore  was  Chief  Baron  of  the  Exchequer  and  a  clerli  in  the  Chancellor's  Court.  It 
is  cuiious  to  find  his  lordship  so  invariably  praised,  by  Irish  writers,  for  his  pati-iethtn. 
As  plain  Barry  Yelverton,  briefless  (and  nearly  shirtless)  he  was  a  "  patriot,"  for  many 
years, — as  a  judge,  peer,  aad  unionist  what  was  he  ? — M. 


ANECDOTES   OF  CUKRAN.  523 

A  lawyer,  a  friend  of  Mr.  Curran,  who  had  devoted  rnnch  mo'x  of 
his  time  to  the  study  of  Hoyle  than  of  Hale,  a  notable  gambler,  but  a 
person  of  eccentric  and  lively  turn  of  mind,  got  entangled  with  Mr.  Cur- 
ran one  day  after  dinner,  and  losing  a  little  ground  ou  the  score  of  temper, 
sharply  ohserved,  that  he  had  too  much  spirit  to  allow  any  person  to  go 
too  far  with  him,  and  passionately  added,  -'No  man  shall  trifle  with  me 
with  impunity  ;"  to  which  Mr.  Curran  replied,  "  Play  with  you,  Ruderick, 
you  mean." 

Mr.  Curran  one  day  riding  by  the  country  seat  of  one  of  the  judges, 
was  struck  by  a  group  of  lovely  children  whom  he  perceived  playing  in 
the  avenue  ;  he  stopped  to  inquire  to  whom  all  these  fine  children  belonged  ; 
he  was  answered  by  the  nurse,  who  had  a  beautiful  infant  in  her  arms, 

that  they  were  the  children  of  Judge .     "  Pray,  my   good  woman, 

how  many  of  them  has  he?"  "There  are  twelve  playing  about  inside, 
and  this  in  my  arms  is  the  thirteenth."  "  Then."  said  Mr.  Curra-n,  "the 
judge  has  a  full  jury,  and  may  proceed  to  trial  whenever  he  choo.ses,  and 
the  young  one  will  make  an  excellent  cner." 

Mr.  Egan,  the  lawyer,  was  a  person  of  very  large  stature  and  of  great 
thews  and  sinews  :  on  going  into  a  bath,  he  exultingly  struck  his  breast, 
all  over  matted  with  hair,  and  exclaimed,  "  Curran,  did  you  ever  see  so 
fine  a  chest  V     "  T)unk,  you  mean,"  said  Mr.  Curran. 

Egan,  in  addressing  a  jury,  having  exhausted  every  ordinary  epithet 
of  abuse,  he  stopped  for  a  word,  and  then  added,  "  this  naufragcous 
ruffian."  AVhen  afterwards  asked  by  his  friends  the  meaning  of  the  word, 
he  confessed  he  did  not  know,  but  said  "  he  thought  it  sounded  well.' 

Mr.  Curran  happening  to  cross-examine  one  of  those  persons  known  ia 
Ireland  by  the  insignificant  description  of  half  gentlemen,  found  it  nccea- 
sary  to  ask  a  question  as  to  his  knowledge  of  the  Irish  tongue,  which 
though  perfectly  familiar  to  him,  the  witness  affected  not  to  understand, 
whilst  he,  at  the  same  time,  spoke  extremely  bad  luiglish  :  "  I  see,  sir, 
how  it  is,  you  are  more  ashamed  of  knowing  your  own  language,  than  of 
not  knowing  any  other.'' 

A  lady  having  shewed  him  her  fan,  with  the  map  of  England  upon  it, 
he  said,  '•  Madam,  it  should  be  the  map  of  the  world,  for  it  puts  all  our 
hearts  in  a  flatter  like  yourself." 


524:  APPENDIX. 

A  gentleman  who  was  too  desu'ous  of  attracting  the  attention  of  thdsfe 
about  him  to  the  style  and  fashion  of  his  dress,  and  one  time,  to  the  shape 
of  a  pair  of  half  boots,  which  he  had  that  day  drawn  on,  appealed  to  Mr. 
Curraa,  among  others,  for  his  opinion,  who  said,  "He  observed  but  one 
fault, — they  shewed  too  much  of  the  calf." 

A  gentleman,  whose  father  had  been  a  wealthy  and  respectable  shoe- 
maker of  the  city  of  Dublin,  and  who  had  indulged  many  persons  with 
credit,  had  lately  died,  and  left,  with  other  property,  his  account  books  to 
his  son,  who  was  a  person  of  great  vivacity  and  good  humour ;  an  old 
debtor  of  the  father,  in  bandying  wit  with  the  son,  annoyed  him  with  the 
piquancy  of  his  raillery,  the  son  observed,  that  he  was  paying  off  in 
an  odd  coin,  demanded  payment  of  the  debt,  and  said,  if  it  was  further 
delayed,  he  would  sue  him  :  the  other  asked  in  what  capacity  would  he 
sue  ?    "  As  sole  executor,^'  said  Mr.  Curran. 

Mr.  Ourran  made  frequent  excursions  to  England,  "  to  distract,'^  as  he 
said,  and  there  he  enjoyed  the  society  of  many  friends.  Lords  Moira, 
Carleton,  and  a  long  catalogue  of  persons  eminent  for  rank  and  talents. 
Burke  and  Sheridan,  though  known  to  him,  he  appears  never  to  have  set 
so  high  a  value  upon  a§  other  men  did.  Of  Eurke,  he  used  to  say,  that 
"his  mind  was  like  an  over-decorated  chapel,  filled  with  gauds  and  shews, 
and  badly  assorted  ornaments.''  Of  Dr.  .Johnson,  that  "  he  was  a  super- 
stitious and  brutish  bigot,  and  that,  with  the  exception  of  his  Dictionary, 
he  had  done  more  injury  to  the  English  language  than  even  Gibbon 
himself." 

Of  John  Home  Tooke  he  thought  in  the  words  of  Mr.  Grattan,  that 
no  man  was  to  be  found  of  more  acuLeness,  or  of  more  undaunted  resolu- 
tion. "  Methinks,'-  said  Mr.  Grattan,  "  if  Mr.  John  Home  Tooke  purposed 
to  drink  his  glass  of  wine,  and  that  the  bolts  of  heaven  had  rent  asunder  the 
earth  beneath  his  feet,  Mr.  J.  H.  Tooke  would  still  drink  his  glass  of  wine." 
Mr.  Tooke,  in  once  asking  a  countryman  of  Mr.  Curran's,  what  opinion 
the  Irish  entertained  of  his  wit  compared  with  that  of  Mr.  Sheridan  ;  on 
being  answered,  that  his  own  countrymen  conceived  no  other  man  living 
pos.sessed  it  in  equal  brilliancy,  richness,  and  variety,  the  philosopher  of 
England  observed,  "I  know  both  these  gentlemen,  and  I  know  them  well, 
both  in  public  and  in  private  ;  Sheridan  is  laboured  and  polished,  you 
always  see  the  marks  of  the  chisel  and  hatchet  about  him  ;  Curran  is 
a  rich  and  glittering  ore,  which  is  raised  from  the  mine  without  effort,  and 
in  the  most  exuberant  profusion." 


ANECDOTES   OF   CUEKAN.  523 

It  was  ouce  observed  iu  Mr.  Currau's  company,  that  the  late  Mr.  Fox 
had  no  relish  for  broad  bumour.  "  I  am  not  sure,"  said  Mr.  Currau,  "  that 
Fox  dLsliked  humour  ;  sometimes,  when  the  hoyden  raillery  of  my  animal 
spirits  has  rufiled  the  plumage  of  my  good  manners,  when  ray  mirth  has 
turned  dancing-master  to  my  veneration,  and  made  it  perhaps  a  little  too 
supple,  I  have  sported  playfully  in  the  presence  of  this  slumbering  lion, 
and  now  and  then  he  condescended  to  dandle  the  child.  He  laughed 
inwardly.  It  was  not  easy  to  say  what  Fox  would  call  a  mot,  but  when 
said,  I  thought  I  saw  a  smile  rippling  over  the  fine  Atlantic  of  his 
cotmtenance." 

Mr.  Currau  had  occasion  to  hire  a  servant ;  and  wishing  to  procure  a 
l^erson  of  good  character  and  respectable  appearance,  he  requested  a 
friend  to  look  out  tor  such.  The  friend  was  a  wag,  and  had  very  lately 
dismissed  his  own  servant,  who  happened  to  be  the  reverse  of  what  Mr. 
Curran  wished  for.  The  friend  had  two  olijects  to  gratify  ;  one  to  amuse 
himself  with  Mr.  Curran,  the  other,  to  humble  the  presumptuous  ex- 
pectations of  an  arrogant,  dishonest,  and  conceited  fellow,  whom,  on 
account  of  his  vanity,  &c.,  he  had  discharged.  The  candidate  was  shown 
up  one  morning  to  Mr.  Curran  ;  his  appearance  was  much  in  his  favour. 
He  was  dressed  in  the  best  fashion  of  a  IJond-stieet  beau.  Mr.  Curran  was 
for  a  moment  under  a  mistake;  observing  him  unfolding  some  papers,  and 
conceiving  him  to  be  no  less  than  some  gallant  defendant  in  a  crint.  con, 
action,  and  that  he  came  to  retain  him,  he  requested  him  to  take  a  chair, 
and  asked  him  if  he  had  had  breakfast.  The  other  answered  by  producing 
his  discharges.  Mr.  Curran  -<?rceiving  his  error,  proceeded  to  business  ; 
and  asked  him,  after  the  proaaction  of  his  credentials,  -wliat  wages  he 
v/ould  expect?"  to  which  he   answered,  "My  last  wages  at  Sir  Thomas 

were  100/.  a  year,  and  two  sUits  of  coloured  clothes."     Mr.  Currau 

inwardly  started,  and  observed,  "  Yon,  sir,  to  be  sure,  are  highly  noticed 
l)y  those  with  whom  yon  have  lived  ;  and,  from  your  appearance,  and  the 
strong  recommendations  you  have  got,  even  the  value  you  set  upon  your- 
self cannot  be  considered  too  high  ;  and,  if  all  other  matters  could  be 
understood,  possibly  no  difference  may  arise  on  this  her«d  :  but,  as  my 
occasions  demand  particular  and  punctilious  attenlion  Id  bonis,  1  would 
be  glad  to  know  wliat  time  you  would  wish  to  devote  to  yourself." 
"Why,  sir,  from  one  to  five  o'clock,  as  I  generally  ride  out  each  day." 
"  But  if  you  get  these  hours,  would  you  be  quite  exact  in  your  return?" 
"  Certainly,  sir."  "  What  do  you  generally  drink  after  dinner?"  "  Why, 
sir,  my  last  allowance  was  one  bottle  of  wine  a  day."     '•  Are  you  quite 


526  APPENDIX. 

certain  that  a  moderate  portioa  of  wiue  would  have  no  injurious  effect  V' 
"  Oh  !  certainly  not,  sir,"  with  a  smile.  '•  Pray,  sir,  am  I  to  understand 
you,  that  you  keep  your  own  horses,  or  am  I  to  keep  them  for  you  V 
"  Why,  sir,  out  of  such  small  wages,  it  would  be  quite  impossible 
that  I  could  keep  my  own  horses."  "  Well,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Curran,  "  I 
think  I  now  pretty  well  understand  you :  let  me  see,  between  wine, 
wages,  clothes,  horses,  keeping,  &c.  &c.,  your  service  may  stand  me  about 
350/.  a  year."  "  Why,  something  thereabout,  sir."  Wearied  with  this 
creature's  impudent,  arrogant  expectations,  he  ended,  by  saying,  "  My 
good  friend,  there  remains  but  one  point  of  difference  between  us,  which 
you  may  easily  adjust  ;  it  entirely  rests  with  you  :  suppose  we  were  to 
change  sides  ;  for  on  these  terms,  I  assure  you,  I  should  anxiously  desire 
to  become  your  very  humble  servant .'" 

There  were  two  gentlemen  of  the  Irish  bar.  one  a  northern,  the  other  a 
southern  :  they  were  tall  as  poplars  :  of  them  he  said,  "  One  is  the  north 
pole,  the  other  the  south  pole."  One  of  them  being  seen  in  London 
walking  with  Mr.  Curran,  some  person  asked  him  who  that  extraordinary 
man  was,  that  so  much  resembled  Lismahago.  and  what  was  his  business 
to  London  ?  Mr.  Curran  replied,  "  that  though  he  was  one  of  his  longest 
acquaintance,  yet  he  did  not  precisely  know  what  his  business  to  London 
was,  except,  perhaps,  to  peep  do^wn  the  chimneys  of  the  Londoners,  to  see 
what  they  had  for  dinner."  One  of  those  gentlemen  had.  by  the  length 
of  his  legs,  so  annoyed  an  Englisli  lady  who  sat  opposite  to  him  in  a  public 
coach,  that,  when  he  proposed  to  some  of  the  company  to  take  a  walk  for 
a  short  stage,  on  his  going  out  he  observed,  "  I  think  it  will  be  of  great 
use  to  me  to  stretch  my  legs."  "  Good  God  !  (the  lady  remarked,)  sir,  if 
you  do,  there  will  be  no  enduring  you,  they  are  so  long  already." 

Mr.  Mahaffy,  (who  long  presided  in  the  Admirality  Court,  as  deputy  for 
Sir  Jonah  Bai-rington,  the  Judge)  a  very  tall  gentleman,  was  retained  by 
Archdeacon  Verscoyle  in  a  cause  which  was  instituted  to  try  his  right  to 
a  certain  church.  In  one  of  the  stages  of  the  trial,  the  Archdeacon  des- 
pondingly  asked  Mr.  Curran  (who  was  of  counsel  for  him,)  his  opinion  as 
to  the  event  of  the  suit.  Mr.  Curran  gave  him  every  hope  ;  and,  pointing 
to  Mr.  Mahaffy,  observed,  "  My  dear  Archdeacon,  as  you  have  retained 
the  spire,  the  church  can  be  in  no  danger." 

Of  some  person  who  voted  for  the  Union,  and  owed  his  elevation  to  hia 
vote,  he  observed.  "  that  he  was  the  foulest  bird  that  ever  perched  upon 
the  ruins  of  a  broken  constitution," 


ANECDOTES    OF   CURRA.N.  •  627 

From  one  of  those  Greek  isles  recently  reillumed  by  the  vigorous  and 
fascinating  poetry  of  the  most  original  writer  of  this  century,  a  beautiful 
Smyrnese  lady,  perhaps  sister  to  the  Bride  of  Abydos,  lately  arrived  in 
Dublin.  To  the  repose  and  softness  of  her  eye,  the  finely  turned  oval  of 
her  face,  there  were  added  a  languishment  of  air,  and  a  richness  of  dress, 
peculiar  to  those  delicious  climates,  from  which  time  has  not  despoiled 
them  of  every  thing  by  despoiling  them  of  freedom.  Such  were  her 
charms,  that  she  was  followed  in  the  public  assemblies  and  iu  the  streets, 
by  crowds  of  admirers.  AValking  in  one  of  the  squares,  she  was  perceived 
by  a  friend  of  Mr.  Curran,  who  instantly  exclaimed,  ''Oh!  there  is  the 
beautiful  woman  from  Smyrna,  I  must  leave  you  for  a  moment  to  see 
her."'  Shortly  after  returning,  he  found  Mr.  Curran,  who  said,  "  Well  my 
friend,  what  say  you,  Quid  tibi  visa  Chios,  quid  Smyrna .?" 

He  was  engaged  on  behalf  of  a  plain  tradesman,  a  citizen  of  Dublin, 
who  had  been  ill-treated,  where  insult  was  added  to  injury,  and  where  the 
man  was  horse-whipped,  beaten  down,  and  falsely  imprisoned.  lie  com- 
plained through  Mr.  Curran  to  a  court  of  justice,  and  a  jury  listened  to 
liis  tale  of  woe  and  of  sufferings,  which  wanted  not  the  colouring  of  ima- 
gination ;  it  was  most  affectingly  told  by  his  counsel :  he  used  no  orna- 
ments to  dress  out  the  victim  which  had  already  suffered  so  much.  His 
appeals  were  deeply  affecting,  because  natural.  He  gave  up  to  the  jury 
the  case  of  an  innocent  and  oppressed  man  in  terms  which  were  directed 
to  the  heart, — the  jury  and  the  audience  were  touched  :  but  the  client, 
who  heard  all,  was  so  overwhelmed  that  he  burst  forth  from  a  silence  he 
had  before  been  noticed  for,  into  a  sudden  exclamation,  accompanied  with 
tears  :  "  Oh !  my  Lord,  all  the  counsellor  has  told  you  is  every  word  of  it 
true,  but  till  this' moment  I  never  knew  I  had  been  half  so  cruelly  ill- 
treated." 

A  hot  fool,  plunged  into  distress,  was  playing  at  billiards,  and  having 
wagered  his  only  guinea  on  the  success  of  the  game,  became  tremulously 
anxious  on  the  last  stroke  of  the  ball  ;  perceiving  the  clock  giving  notice 
to  strike  one,  as  be  hoped,  and  fearing  some  distraction,  he  paused  for  a 
moment ;  another  and  another  succeeded,  till  the  clock  went  insensibly  on 
to  twelve.  Thus  suspended,  his  irritation  increased,  he  played  and  lost, 
and  in  his  rage  seizing  the  ball,  drove  it  at  the  clock  with  such  fury  and 
force  that  he  broke  it  in  pieces:  the  owner  sought  compensation  and 
obtained  it.  This  being  related  in  the  presence  of  Mr.  Curran,  he  observed 
"  That  the  damage  should  be  very  small  as  the  clock  struck  Jit  st.'* 


628  APPENDIX. 

An  Englishman,  visiting  Dublin  for  the  first,  sat  next  Jlr.  Grattan  at  » 
civic  feast,  and  found  him  as  dull — as  the  place  and  occasion  required. 
He  was  much  disappointed  ;  and  seeking  an  occasion  to  meet  Mr.  Curran 
a  few  days  after  at  dinner,  not  apprised  of  the  unbroken  intimacy  and 
friendship  which  politically  and  privately  ever  subsisted  between  those 
gentlemen,  indiscreetly  observed,  that  Mr.  Grattan,  appeared  to  possess 
nothing  striking  in  conversatioii,  and  to  have  e^^hibited  nothing  of  those 
extraordinary  powers  for  which  he  was  so  celebrated.  Mr.  Curran  started, 
and  replied,  "  Surely,  sir,  you  cannot  expect  that  the  sun  will  be  always 
found  in  its  meridian  :  permit  me,  however,  to  ask  you  where  you  had  the 
good  fortune  to  have  met  this  gentleman."  On  being  answered,  at  a  city 
feast ;  "  Oh,  yes  :  it  is  very  true  :  I  comprehend  it  perfectly.  Yet,  take 
my  word  for  it,  my  good  sir,  he  is  still  a  sweet  bird,  though  he  never  sings 
but  in  his  own  climate." 

Shortly  after  the  establishment  of  our  colony  at  Botany  Bay,  when  the 
population  was  fast  increasing,  Mr.  Curran  in  one  of  his  speeches  upon  a 
criminal  trial,  obsei'ved,  "  that  should  the  colony  thrive,  and  become  a 
regular  civil  government,  what  a  pleasant  thing  it  would  be  to  have  the 
laws  administered  by  judges  reprieved  at  the  gallows;  by  justices  who 
had  picked  pockets  ;  by  counsellors  who  had  pleaded  at  the  bar  for  their 
lives  ;  by  lawyers  who  had  set  the  law  at  defiance  ;  to  see  house-breakers 
appointed  to  protect  the  public  property ;  highwaymen  entrusted  with  the 
public  money  ;  rioters  invested  with  commissions  of  the  peace,  and  shop- 
lifters to  regulate  the  markets.  Such,  however,  said  he,  were  the  original 
people  of  Rome  ;  and  such  the  foundation  of  the  states  of  America." 

A  beautiful  young  woman  of  the  name  of  Serjeant,  whose  father  was  an 
officer  of  a  yeomanry  corps  in  Dublin,  happened  to  pass  Mr.  Curran  in 
the  street ;  struck  by  her  beauty,  he  inquired  of  a  friend  who  she  was,  and 
being  answered,  that  she  was  the  lovely  Miss  Serjeant  whom  he  had  seen 
ten  years  before  at  Cheltenham— "  What,  not  married  yet?  then  I  suppose 
her  father  will  make  her  2t.  permanent  Serjeant." 

Mr.  Hoare's  countenance  was  grave  and  solemn,  with  an  expression  like 
one  of  those  statues  of  the  Brutus  head  :  he  seldom  smiled  ;  and  if  he 
smiled,  he  smiled  in  such  a  sort  as  seemed  to  have  rebuked  the  spirit  that 
could  smile  at  all.  Mr.  Curran  once  observing  a  beam  of  joy  to  enliven 
his  face,  remarked,  "  Whenever  I  see  smiles  on  Hoare's  countenance,  J 
think  they  are  like  tin  clasps  on  an  oaken  coSin." 


Ais^ECbOTES    OF   CUliRAN.  629 

A  gentleman  of  one  of  the  scuthern  counties  in  Ireland  well  known 
for  a  certain  determination  of  mind,  and  niiaccoiuiuodating  strength  of 
resolution,  was  perceived  to  be  very  active  on  some  trial  in  which  Mr 
{;urran  was  engaged  ;  it  was  proposed  to  refer  the  case  to  the  arbitration 
of  tbis  gentleman,  as  he  was  reputed  to  be  an  honest  man  :  on  the  other 
side  an  objection  was  raised,  founded  on  the  known  sternness  of  his  char- 
acter; and  it  was  also  remarked,  that  his  iron  leg  was  the  softest  part- 
about  him  ;  ■'  Oh,  surely,"  said  Mr.  Cnrran,  "  that  must  be  irony." 

The  printed  speech  of  some  young  barrister*  had  been  laid  before  Mr 
Curran,  and  his  opinion  asked  after  he  had  carefully  perused  it.  "  Why," 
said  he,  "  there  is  much  more  of  flower  than  figure  in  it — more  of  fancy 
than  design  :  it  is  like  (as  I  suspect  the  mind  of  the  author  to  be)  a  tree 
in  full  blossom — shake  it,  and  you  have  them  on  the  ground  in  a  minute, 
and  it  would  take  a  season  to  reproduce  them." 

An  eminent  member  of  Parliament,  a  leader  of  the  oppo.^ition,  being 
in  th.  company  of  Mr.  Curran,  had  heard  Iiini  copiously  and  vehemently 
descant  ou  the  numerous  grievances  under  which  he  represented  Ireland 
to  be  labouring.  This  gentleman,  became  veiy  urgent  in  his  solicitations 
to  get  materials  for  some  good  spoeclies  from  such  a  source,  rather  impru- 
dently requested  of  Mr.  Curran  to  supply  him  with  a  list  of  tliese  grievances, 
accompanied  bj  such  observations  and  details  as  ho  would  wish  to  make 
upon  them.  -Mr.  Curran  su.>pecting  that  there  was  full  as  much  of  per 
sonul  interest  as  of  patriotism  in  the  reqm'st,  declined  gratifying  it.  Some 
friend  asked  him,  in  a  few  days  after,  why  he  did  not  comply  with  the  ear- 
ne.st  desire  of  the  person  alluded  to.  "No,"  said  Mr.  Curran,  "  I  have  no 
notion  whatever,  at  my  time  of  life,  nor  indeed  at  any,  to  turn  hodman  to 
any  political  arc'>ilect." 

A  barrister  of  the  name  of  Going  had.  among  otber  pleas3.atri°p,  a 
favourite  story,  which  he  so  agreeably  exaggerated  every  time  he  told  it, 
that  at  lengtii  it  became  too  monstrous  ior  belief.  He  was  charged  with 
this  in  presence  jf  Mr.  Curran,  who  observed,  tliat  the  story  was  not  tlio 
worse  for  being  enlarged,  that  it  was  an  e.\cell::nt  story,  and  had  the 
merit  of  proceeding  like  Fame — '' jVaoi  'ires  acquirit  etiniio,"  i.  e.,  "  \t 
gathers  strength  by  goingJ' 

*  Ciarles  Phillips,  ols  future  bioj^rapher. — M. 

23 


530  APPENDIX. 

Speaking  of  the  supineness  of  Government,  while  the  fire  of  rebellion  t/as 
not  yet  extinguished,  but  raked  over,  he  observed  they  were  like  tbe  8ijl7 
sea-boy,  who  thought  that  during  the  time  he  slept,  the  ship  ceas"^  ^o 
move. 

In  Parliament,  on  the  debate  of  an  important  question,  iavolvi.ig  seme 
of  the  deepest  interests  of  his  country  ;  perceiving  the  House  to  be  very 
thinly  attended,  he  rose,  aud  after  many  arguments  and  observations,  he 
at  length  demanded  in  a  commanding  tone  of  voice  of  the  Speaker — "  Where 
are  the  members?  have  they  not  been  summoned?  It  seems  then,"  said  he, 
"  they  are  not  forthcoming ;  perhaps  at  this  very  moment,  they  may  be 
found  chained  in  couples  in  the  kennel,  or  under  the  management  of  the 
ministers'  secretary." 

Enthusiastically  fond  of  music,  he  perceived  at  a  rehearsal,  one  of  thoso 
Eoderigos  or  foolish  gentlemen,  who  haunt  concerts  and  oratorios,  busy 
and  bustling,  ordering  and  disordermg  everything :  vexed  with  the  popin- 
jay, he  observed  to  a  friend — "Mark  that  fellow,  hj  is  like  the  fool  who 
blows  the  bellows  for  the  organist,  and  because  he  does  so,  he  thinks  it  is 
himself  who  performs  the  instrument." 

Speaking  of  the  profession  of  the  law,  he  compared  the  hope  of  suc- 
cess to  the  gamut  of  the  musicians  ;  he  said  one  should  gather  his  strength 
and  begin  with  the  low  notes;  and  this  he  illustrated  by  saying,  ••  It 
reminded  him  of  a  cunning  oarber,  who  began  his  trade  by  shaving  a 
beggar,  in  the  hope  that  one  day  or  other  he  would  rise  to  shave  a 
duchess.'' 

Walking  one  evening  in  autumn,  in  Saint  James's  Park,  accompanied 
by  Mr.  Charles  Phillips,  celebrated  equally  for  his  eloquence  as  for  hit 
poetry,  there  suddenly  came  on  a  violent  tempest,  which  rived  the  gnarled 
oak,  and  shook  the  leaves,  and  strewed  them  over  the  walks,  as  thick  as 
those  in  Vallombroso.  which  Mr.  Curran  remarking,  said,  "  My  deai  friend, 
observe  here  ;  we  are  desired  by  philosophy  to  take  lessons  from  Nature  . 
yet  how  foolishly  does  she  seem  to  act  on  the  present  occasion  ;  she  flingf. 
nv/ay  her  blessings  and  her  decorations  ;  she  is  at  this  moment  vtry  busy 
in  stripping  those  defenceless  trees,  at  the  approach  of  vvinttr  and  :t 
cold,  at  that  very  season  when  tliey  most  want  covering." 

THE     END. 


INDEX. 


-<*- 


Abercombie,  Sir  Ralph,  protests  against  the 
Government's  reign  of  terror  in  Ireland, 
and  is  recalled,  335. 

Aldworth  family  at  Newmarket,  2;  their 
kindness  to  Curran,  4. 

Apjnhn,  W.,  Curran's  poetical  address  to, 
13;  Curran's  character  of,  16. 

American  Bar,  Curran's  early  intention  of 
joining  it,  57. 

American  Revolution,  effect  of,  in  Ireland, 
95. 

Appendix,  517. 

Armstrong,  Captain,  the  informer  who  be- 
trayed the  Shearses,  256 ;  described  by 
Davis,  ib. ;  his  infamous  character,  264  ; 
his  evidence,  266;  denounced  by  Curran, 
277 

A.'kinson,  Joseph,  friend  of  Curran  and 
Moore,  387. 

Avonmore,  Lord  (Barry  Yelverton),  edu- 
cated at  Middletim,  5;  his  regard  for 
Curran,  78;  comi)limented  by  Curran,  79; 
founds  the  Order  of  the  Monks  of  the 
Screw,  SO;  Curran's  Address  to,  83;  his 
habit  of  anticipation,  85  ;  reference  to,  in 
Parliament,  107  ;  presides  at  Orr's  trial, 
207  ;  his  opinion  of  Blackstone,  208  ;  his 
patriotism. 

Bar,  the  Irish,  mode  of  admission  to,  17; 

points  of  difference  from  the  English  bar, 

60. 
Barrington,  Sir  Jonah,  his  account  of  Henry 

Sheares'  last  appeal  to  the  Government, 

270. 
Bond,  Oliver,  indicted  for  treason, 293;  de- 

fended  by   Curran,  294;   convicted,  and 

dies  in  prison,  302. 
Boor,  the  English,  described,  23. 
Boyse,  Kev.  Nathaniel,  rector  of  Newmar- 
ket, educates  Curran,  4  ;   at   Paris,   l'J7  ; 

letter  from,  129  ;  visits  Curran  in  Dublin, 

130. 
Browidow,  Mr.,  Grattan's  sketch  of,  88. 
Burgh,  Hussey,  sketched   by  Grattan,  88  ; 

notice  of,  89. 
Burke,   Edward,   his    eloquence    compared 

Willi  Curran's,  492. 


Burrowes,  Peter,  his  defence  of  Of;   tall| 

100. 

Bushe,  Charles  Kendal,  64. 

Byrne,  William  Michael,  convicted  at  1  ex- 
ecuted for  treason,  293. 

Byron,  Lord,  borrows  an  image  from  Cur- 
ran, 399  ;  compares  Erskine  and  Curran, 
455 ;  his  opinion  of  Curran's  imagination, 
508. 

Carleton,  Lord,  presides  at  the  trial  of  the 
Sheareses,  250 ;  refuses  to  adjourn  tho 
Court,  after  sixteen  hours'  sitting,  205. 

Castlereagh,  Lord,  his  humniiity,  254. 

Catacombs  of  Paris,  444. 

Catholic  Knianiupation,  Curran's  early  ad- 
vocacy of,  33;  resisti-<l  by  the  L'ish  P.ir- 
liament,  102;  supported  by  Curran,  195. 

Catholic  Penal  Code,  91. 

Charlemont,  Lorcl,23S;  early  opposition  to 
the  Catliolic  Claims,  399. 

Clare,  Earl  of:  his  life,  108;  contest  and 
duel  with  Curran,  109;  virtually  shuts 
him  out  of  all  Chancery  praetiee,  156; 
Curran's  retort  to,  before  the  Privy  Coun- 
cil, 102. 

Clonmel,  Lord,  his  rise,  62;  quarrels  with 
Curran,  192. 

Cockayne,  the  informer,  anecdote  of,  189. 

Courts  of  Law  in  Ireland,  irregularities  in, 
66. 

Creagh,  Dr.  Richard,  his  character  of  "  Jack 
Curran,"  36;  antipathy  to  keening,  52; 
becomes  Curran's  lather-in-law,  55. 

Croppies,  the,  251. 

Curran,  Amelia,  dies  in  Rome,  355. 

Curran  .James,  Seneschal  of  Newmarket,  2; 
his  education,  3. 

Cmran,  John  Philpnt ;  Date  and  Place  of 
Birth,  1;  his  Descent,  2;  his  Parentage, 
8  ;  his  Education, 4  ;  bis  Schoolfellows,  5; 
works  Punch's  Pupi)et-Sh<>w,  6 ;  enters 
Trinity  College,  Dublin,  as  Siz.-ir,  ih.  ;  his 
favorite  Classics,  ih.  ;  his  Colb-ge  friend- 
ships, 7  ;  writes  a  Sermon  for  Mr.  Stack, 
9;  adopts  the  T,aw  as  his  Profession,  10; 
Satire  on  Dr.  Duigenan,  ib.  ;  his  College 
life,  11  ;  Poetical  Address  to  Mr.  Apjohn, 
18;  leaves  College,  17;  enters  the  Middle 


532 


INDEX. 


Temple,  ib. ;  Letters  to  Mr.  Wesfoii,  18  ; 
Journey  to  London,  19  ;  describes  an 
Entrlish  Boor,  23;  visits  Hampton  Court, 
24;  his  Life  in  London,  25;  Letter  to 
Jerry  Keller,  28;  his  Oratory,  eaily  Fail- 
ure, ond  Success,  as  related  l)y  himself, 
2'j ;  attends  Debating  Clubs,  33;  early 
advocacy  of  Catholic  Emancipation,  ib.  ; 
Poem  on  Friendship  by,  34  ;  his  Character 
sketched  by  Dr.  Cre;  gh,  30;  Hudson's 
Predictions  of,  37  ;  Lt  :ter  from  London, 
39;  his  Industry  in  the  Temjile,  42;  his 
Society  in  London,  40;  Interviews  with 
MacUlin,  ib.  ;  early  Application  and  At- 
tainments, 4S ;  favorite  Authors,  51; 
Seen -J  at  a  Wake,  53,  Attachment  to  the 
Irish  Peasantry,  54;  Marries  Miss 
Creagh,  55;  called  to  the  Irisli  Bar,  53 ; 
his  forensic  Oratory,  59  ;  his  Firmness, 
65  ;  early  Success  at  the  Bar,  09  ;  Contest 
with  Judge  Robinson,  70  ;  advocacy  of  a 
Cathclic  Priest,  assaulted  by  Lord  Done- 
raile,  71  ;  obtains  a  Verdict,  74  ;  animad- 
version on  Captain  St.  Leger's  conduct, 
75;  Duel  with,  76;  receives  Father 
Neale's  dying  benediction,  ib. ;  supported 
by  Lord  Avonmore's  friendship, '>  8 ;  his 
Character  of,  and  Address  to  Lord  Avon- 
more,  79  ;  joins  the  Monks  of  the  Screw, 
80  ;  List  of  the  Members,  ib.  ;  appointed 
Prior  of  the  Order,  81  ;  writes  the  Char- 
ter Song,  82  ;  pathetic  Address  to  Lord 
Avonmore,  S3;  their  Quarrel  and  Recon- 
ciliation, S4;  enters  Parliament,  SO;  liow 
he  obtained  his  Seat,  87  ;  joins  the  Na- 
tional Party,  101  ;  inferior  character  of 
his  Parliamentary  Speeches,  lo5  ;  supports 
Flood's  proposition  for  a  Reform  in  Par- 
liament, 106;  his  early  Career  in  Parlia- 
ment, 107;  Contest  and  Duel  with  Fitz- 
gibbon  (Earl  of  Clare),  109;  Speaks 
against  Orde's  Commercial  Propositions, 
111;  Speech  on  the  Pension  List,  112; 
Character  of  the  Pension  List,  114;  in 
full  Practice  at  the  Bar,  115  ;  Letter  from, 
116;  builds  the  Priory  at  Newmarket,  i/;  ; 
his  Companions  and  Avocations  there, 
117:  Occasional  Verses,  119;  Speech  on 
Irish  Disturbances,  120;  on  the  Right  Boy 
Oath,  the  Pension  List,  and  Navigation 
Laws,  122  ;  first  visit  to  France,  ib. ;  Let- 
ter from  Dieppe,  123;  from  Rouen,  125; 
visit  to  a  French  Abbot,  126  ;  Letter  from 
Paris,  127;  Scene  at  the  Opera  House, 
128  ;  receives  Mr.  Boyce  in  Dublin,  130  ; 
Speech  on  Contraband  Trade,  131  ;  visits 
Holland,  i'i'>.  ,•  Letter  fnnn  Uelvoelsluys, 
ib.\  from  Amsterdam,  132;  the  King's 
illness  and  the  Regency  question,  134; 
the  Ermine  and  a  Peerage  oil'ered  to  Cur- 
rar.,  and  refused,  ib.  ;  his  Speech  in  Par- 
liament, 135  ;  replies  to  Fitzgibb  m,  140; 
Speech  on  the  Division  of  the  Board  of 
Stamps  and  Accounts,  143  ;  attaidied  by 
Sir  lioyle  Roche,  147;  his  Reply,  149; 
Correspondence  with  Major  Hobart,  150; 
Duel,  155  ;  shut  out  of  Chancery  Practice 
by  Lo!i  Clare,  156;  signal  vengeance  for 


the  wrong,  158;  Alderman  (owison's 
case,  159;  appeal  to  the  Viceroy,  Chan- 
cellor, and  Privy  Council,  16i) ;  strong 
Personal  Attack  on  Lord  Clare,  162  ;  Par- 
liamentary Speeches,  105;  defends  Ham- 
ilton Rnwan,  170  ;  Universal  Emancipa- 
tion, 172  ;  the  Liberty  of  the  Press,  ib.  ; 
noble  Peroration,  174:  Conviction,  175  ; 
Defence  of  the  "Defenders,"  177;  near 
approach  to  Office,  1'78;  defends  Jackson, 
179 ;  Jacks  in's  Suicide,  182  ;  Contest 
with  Lord  Clonmel,  192;  Parliament- 
ary Career,  190 ;  last  Year  [1795]  of  his 
Legislative  life,  198;  retires  from  Parlia- 
ment, 206 ;  Speech  for  William  Orr, 
206;  defence  of  Peter  Finnerty,  209; 
denounces  informers,  214;  defence  of 
Patrick  Finney,  217;  cross-exam- 
ines James  O'Brien,  the  informer, 
•2lS ;  denounces  his  peijuries,  229 ; 
prosecutes  him  to  Conviction  for  Mur- 
der, 231  ;  Speech  on  the  trial  of  the 
Sheareses,  257and2()4;  triumph  of  mind 
over  physical  exhaustion,  207  ;  defence  of 
Oliver  jjond,  294;  cross-examines  Rey- 
nolds, the  informer,  296 ;  his  character, 
300  ;  appears  as  counsel  against  the  at- 
tainder  of  Lord  Edward  Fitzgerald,  3o3  ; 
subjected  to  Orange  insults,  307;  visits 
England,  808 ;  Lines  to  Lady  Charlotte 
Rawdon,  310;  trial  of  Wolfe  Tone,  313; 
Currau  moves  for  a  habeas  corpus  for  the 
convict,  315;  Curran's  prediction  as  to 
effects  of  the  Union, SIS;  its  etfects  on  his 
mind,i6.;  speech  in  Napper  Tandy's  case, 
321  ;  speech  against  Sir  Henry  Hayes,  for 
abduction,  330;  appears  for  Hevcy  v. 
Major  Sirr,  'iZi;  couiplimeiits  Godwin, 
the  novelist,  337;  visits  Paris,  338;  letter 
to  his  son,  839;  Einmett's  revolt,  defence 
of  Owen  Kirwan,  841  ;  Curran  suspected 
of  complicity  with  Emmett,  348 ;  tenders 
himself  and  papers  for  examination,  .350; 
appears  before  the  Privy  Council,  meets 
Lord  Clare,  and  defeats  calumny,  351 ; 
his  domestic  affairs,  357 ;  his  wile's  infi- 
delity, 359;  throws  his  own  feelings  into 
the  case  Massy  v.  Marquij  of  Headford, 
360;  his  suit  against  Mr.  Sandys,  361; 
appointed  Master  of  the  Rolls,  863 ;  ad- 
dress of  the  Bar  to,  364;  history  of  his 
a)ipointment,  ii!/. ;  ill-treated  by  Ponson- 
by,  the  Chancellor,  365  ;  his  letter  to  Grat- 
tan  thereon,  366;  was  unsuited  for  equity 
business,  375;  his  decision  in  Merry  v. 
Power,  ib.  ;  liis  person  and  minners  de- 
scribed by  PiiiUips,  381 ;  his  literary  i)ro. 
jects,  382;  letter  to  McNally,  3S5;  to  Miss 
Philpot,  3S6;  visits  Scotland,  387;  Eulogy 
on  the  Scottish  nation,  390  ;  letter  to  P.  Les- 
lie, iJ). ;  to  R.  Hetherington,  892;  Parlia- 
mentary contest  for  Newry,  390  ;  address  to 
the  electors,  397  ;  his  reception,  ib. ;  speech 
to  the  electors,  398;  resigns  the  contest, 
404  ;  letter  to  Sir  J.  Swinburne,  404  ;  to  the 
Duke  of  Sussex,  407  ;  his  health  declines, 
417;  letters  from  England,  i&. ;  Poem  to 
Sleep,  423;  resigns  his  judicial  seat,  424* 


INDEX. 


6ZS 


a<I(lress  from  the  Catholic  Board,  if>. ;  his 
reply  to,  425  ;  reminiscences  of  by  Pliillips, 
42S  ;  his  later  life  at  the  Prioryj  430  ;  his 
sj'inpathy  with  the  people,  43i  ;  coiiipii- 
ment  paiil  by  Unit,  ih. ;  visit  to  Paris,  43'2  ; 
political  projects,  436;  scenes  in  Paris, 
440 ;  epigram  on  Napoleon,  442 ;  at  the 
Catacombs,  444 ;  French  drama,  446 ; 
sight  of  Jilucher,  450  ;  the  end  ap 
proaches,  451  ;  Phillips'  account,  451  ; 
•nlimacy  with  Madame  de  Stael,  452; 
witli  ]/(ird  Kiskine,  453;  with  the  Prince 
Regent,  454;  Byron's  descriptio'"  of,  455  ; 
Pa]alytic  aituclc,  457;  last  visit  vC  Ire- 
land, ih.,  melancholy  forebodings,  45S; 
the  last  hours,  460;  expires  at  th>  age  of 
sixty-eight,,  461;  his  funeral,  ,-'2;'  his 
will,  i/)  ,  removal  of  his  remains  lO  Ire- 
land, 464;  Sarcopliagus  at  Glasnovin  and 
monument  in  St.  Patrick's  Cathedra".  i/>., 
Ids  eloquence,  466  ;  sympathy  with  ;he 
Peojile,  469;  <'bjections  to  his  style,  471  ; 
liis  slight  preparations,  473:  his  extempo- 
rjincous  elO(|iience,  475 ;  his  own  idea  of 
its  power,  477  ;  his  pathos,  47S  ;  variety 
of  his  power,  4S0;  his  imagination,  ili., 
hi:<  e;'.i-M:stness,  4So  ;  propensity  to  meta- 
pho.',  -U.'4 ;  his  jieculiar  school  of  elo- 
qneii'ie,  4->S;  its  origin,  490;  compared 
with  Lord  Ciiatham's  style,  ih. ;  Curran 
compared  witu  Uurke,  492  ;  his  skill  in 
cro-s-eiamination,  406;  ids  legal  read- 
ing, 4;*S ;  his  judicial  ability,  499;  his 
gen3":il  reading,  il>.  ;  his  conversation, 
500  ;  ids  wit,  601 ;  bis  ho7i-mot.s,  5<12  ;  his 
wit  compared  with  Sheridan's,  5u2 ;  his 
manners,  505;  bis  jiolitic-il  i)rincii,les  and 
cont'jsts,  506;  his  person,  .  OT ,  .lis  ap- 
pearance in  Ids  niaturer  years,  ih. ;  . 
Byron's  0|)inion  of  bis  imagination,  50S  ;  j 
Lis  voice  and  delivery,  50S  ;  his  iieculi- 
Rritles,  509  ,  his  temperance  in  diet,  510  ; 
personal  traits  of  character,  511  ;  fond  of 
novel  reading,  512;  his  character,  51i5; 
his  acknowleilged  eminence,  515. 

Currar,  Mrs.  J.  P.  ;  her  marriage,  3.59;  her 
infidelity,  361  :  last  interview  with  her 
husband,  363;  is  provided  for  by  his 
will,  462. 

Curran,  Sarah,  mother  of  J.  P.  Curran,  3; 
Davis's  character  of,  3;  epitaph  on,  9  ; 

Curran,  Saran,  her  love-passages  with 
Robert  Emmett,340;  her  lover's  fare  veil, 
.354  ,  her  marriage  and  death,  355. 

Cuaran,  William  Henry,  sou  and  biogra- 
phe.  of  Can-,in,  pdnffitr.: 

Curran  s  poems,  34,  S2,  117,  119,120,  22S, 
810,  4J3,  44S. 

Davis,   Thomas,   his   records   of  Curraii's 

youth,  5. 
Day,  .ludge,  a  schoolfellow  of  Curran,  5. 
Debating    CluDs,   Curran's    early   practice 

in,  33. 
De  Stael,  Madame,  anecdolB  of,  452  ;    her 

opiidon   of   Curraii'8   colloquial   powers, 

6(^3. 
Defenders,  Ihe,  their  character,  240. 


Doncraile,  Lord,  assaults  a  Ca'.hclic  Priest 
.72. 

Downes,  Chief  Justice,  anecdote  of,  216. 

Drennan,  Dr.,  an  Irish  patriot,  I'S 

Duigenan,  Dr.  Patrick,  satire  on  by  Cur- 
ran, 60:  parliamentary  fra".,!?  with,  200  ; 
meets  Curran  in  Westiuinslor  Abbey,  506, 

Emmet',  Robert,  his  revolt,  311  ;  his  cha 
racti'r,  -348;  his  passion  for  Sar.ah  Cur- 
ran, :349;  failure  of  his  insurrecticn,  ib.: 
arrest,  ib.  ,  letter  to  Curran,  352 ;  tc 
Richard  Curran,  354  ;  h'n  execution, 
356;  his  trial  as  given  by  Madden,  ib 
Plunket's  attack  on  him,  //;. 

English  Law,  remarks  on  the  study  of,  58. 

English  misrule  in  Ireland,  91  ;  its  system 
and  principles,  92. 

Erskine,  Lord,  eloquence  of,  61  ;  anecdote 
of,  453  ;  compared  with  Curran,  455. 

Irerris,  Sir  John,  impromptu  to,  byCurian, 
26S. 

Finnert:; ,  I  eter,  trial  of,  for  Ubel,  20b  •  de- 
fended jy  Curran,  209;  convicted,  lined 
anil  imprisoned,  2l7. 

Finney,  Patrick,  tried  for  high  treason,  217. 

Fit7.g''rald,  Lor'.  Edward,  implicate'  "jy 
Reynolds,  299;  act  of  attainder  agains' 
his  blood,  3  r2  ;  resisted  by  Curran,  308  ; 
attainder  removed,  ih. 

Fii/.gibb.in,  John.     See  Lord  Clare. 

Flo(jd,  Henry,  ch  i.  actor  of,  by  Grattan  83; 
proposes  a  reform  in  P.triianiclit,  106. 

Forbes,  Mr.,  character  of  by  Grat'.an,  83. 

Forensic  Jocularity,  67. 

French  Revolution,  effects  of.  In  Ireland, 
235. 

Friendship,  early  poem  on,  by  Curran,  31. 

George  TIL,  insanity  of,  134;  its  frequent 
recurrence,  135;  made  a  party  pivot  of, 
..56. 

Godwin,  William,  Curran's  compliment  to, 
387. 

Gratlan,  Henry,  his  opinion  of  Iri.-di  intel- 
lect, 62 ;  Sketches  of  eminent  Irishmen, 
by,  87  ;  his  ch.iracter,  99  ;  defence  of,  by 
Burrowes,  100;  his  death,  515. 

Hampton  Court,  descril)Ld  by  Cuiran,  24. 

Hastings,  Trial  of  Warren,  61. 

Hayes,  Sir  Henry,   his   abduction   of  Miss 

Pike,   :li29 ;    compulsory    marriage,    330; 

flight,  return,  and   trial,  ih.  ;  conviction 

and  transportation,  331. 
Hevi.y,   John,   his    persecutions   by   Major 

Sin-,  ■f:i2  ;  bis  death,  336. 
H.il'ail,    .Major,   his    correspondence    with 

Curran,  l.'iO  ;  duel,  1.55. 
lloclie,  (ieneral,  heads  the  French  inva.5ion 

of  Ireland,  201  and  250;  Second  expedi- 
tion, 312. 
Holt,  the  rebel  general,  431. 
Holland,  Curran's  visit  to,  131. 
Hudson,   the   Dublin    dentist,    a   friend   ol 

Curran's,  letters  from,  37. 
Humourous  forensic  illustrations,  69. 


534 


INDEX. 


"  If  sadly  thinking,"  the  Deserter's  sccg,  by 

Cui  Tiin,  117. 
Ireland,  sketch  of  its  history  before  1783,00. 
•  rish  eioi  uencc,  character  and  causes  of,  60. 
Irish  informers,  base  character  of,  188. 
Irish  judges,  jOPiilarity  of,  07. 
Irish  juj-ies,  fusillaniraity  of,  189  ;  Curran's 

remarks  on,  a'<1. 
ir'sh  landlords  of  the  last  century,  246. 
Irish  revolution  of  1.TS2,  89;   its  progress 

and  extent,  98. 

lackson,  Rev.  William,  a  state  prisoner, 
17-'i  trial  of,  179;  refuses  to  escape  from 
pr  siu,  ISt ;  conviction  and  suicide,  182. 

Keenino'  at  Irish  funerals,  52. 

Keller,  .Terry,  one  of  Curran's  schoolfellows, 
6;  letter  from  Curran  to,  'J8. 

Kirwan,  Owen,  trial  and  conviction  of,  841. 

"iilwarlen.  Lord  (Arthur  Wolfe)  his  career, 
(Jf  ;  solicits  Curran  to  join  the  Govern- 
ment 179;  stands  Curran'-  f'i-i."  in 
VSS ;  murder  of,  347. 

^awyers  ir  the  Irish  Par. lament,  63. 
LiOngueville,  Lord,  returns  Curran  to  Par- 
liament, 87. 
Lucas,  Dr.,  an  exile  for  his  patriotism,  93. 

Macklin,  the  actor,  Curran's  Interviews 
with,  46. 

McCaria,  .Inhn,  tried,  convicted,  and  exe- 
cutid  for  treason,  29o. 

McNally,  Leonard,  his  rcgai  d  for  Curran, 
217  ;  sp'riks  airainst  time,  22S. 

Maluiie,  xXntony  (Irish  Judge)  sketched  by 
Grattau,  87. 

Middleton,  t^chool  of,  where  Curran  was 
educated,  4. 

Moira,  Earl  of,  notice  of,  309;  Cur.an's 
character  of,  402. 

Monks  of  the  Screw,  founded  by  Lord  Avon- 
more,  SO;  list  of  members,  i/i. ;  Curran, 
the  Prior,  writes  the  Cliarter  Song,  82. 

Moore,  Thomas,  his  intimacy  with  Curran, 
45T. 

Napoleon, Curran's  estimate  of,  34.5 ;  epigram 
on,  442. 

Neale,  Rev.  Mr  ,  a  Catholic  clergyman, 
assaulted  by  Lord  l)oneraile,72  ;  Curran's 
advocacy  of,  73;  obtains  a  verdict,  74; 
gives  a  dying  benediction  to  Curran,  76. 

Newmarket,  Curran  born  at,  1. 

Newry  election,  S96  ;  Curran's  speech,  398. 

Norbury,  L'^rd,  prosecutes  the  Sheareses  as 
Attorney-General,  264;  insists  on  the 
trial  pioceeding  after  sixteen  h:urs 
•siit'ng,  267 ;  his  character  of  Lord  Edr.ard 
Fi.zgerald,  304. 

O'Brien,  James,  the  informer,  218 ;  his 
perjuries  denounced,  229;  is  executed 
for  murder,  231. 

O'Connell's  character  of  Curran,  464. 

P'Oonnor,  the  Bard  in  Newmarket,  118. 


I  O'Grady,  Standish  (Viscount  GuiUiamore), 
Attorney-General  of  1803,  350. 

O'Leary,  Father,  125;  introduces  Curran  to 
a  French  monastery,  126. 

O'Regan,  William,  his  recollections  of  Cur- 
ran, 6,  et  pitssim;  his  description  of 
Curran,  507. 

Opera,  French,  scene  at,  123. 

Orde,  Thomas,  Irish  Secretary  (afterwards 
Lord  Bolton)  his  commercial  proposiii'jus, 

ni. 

Order  of  St.  Patri  k.   Monks  of  the.     see 

Moiiks  of  the  Screw. 
Orr,  Willam,  trial  of  206;  Curran's  speech 

for    20<  ;     thrice    respited,    and    flnalij 

eyecuteii,  208. 
Osborne,  Sir  William,  sketched  by  "Jrattan, 

83. 

Parl'a-nent  of  Ireland,  nursery  of  great 
r.i  ,  64;  reform  of,  94;  its  constituent 
part.s,  100 ;  Octennial  Bill  passes  and 
disbands  the  Irish  Parliamentary  dicta- 
tors, 94;  surrender  the  fruits  of  their 
triumph,  103. 

Pen:il  laws,  91. 

Pension  list,  Curran's  speech  in  112 ;  second 
speech  against  122. 

Pery,  Lord  Grattan's  sketch  of,  8S. 

Pl.illips,  C,  bis  introduction  to  Curran,  331  ; 
his  reminiscences,  428 ;  account  of  bis 
last  d;iys,  451  ;  his  description  of  Curraa 
fifty  years  ago,  507. 

Pike,  Mary,  abducted  by  Sir  H.  Hayes,  329; 
compulsory  marriage,  380  ;  prosecutes 
H.iyes  to  conviction,  ib. 

Pitt's  eloquence,  61. 

Plui:"  tt,  Wi  Ham,  !'  i  ngham,  64;  acts  as 
C.-.nsel  for  John  Sbeares,  264;  against 
.;obert  Emmctt,  358;  against  Curran  In 
"  Curran  v.  Sandys,"  362. 

Ponsonby  George,  notice  of  2'^0 ;  his  ill- 
treatment  of  Curran,  865. 

Priory,  The,  Curran's  country-house  at 
Newmarket,  116. 

Priory,  The,  (Curran's  seat  near  DulKu)  his 
melancholy  hours  at,  35S. 

Putting  down  the  Young  Patriot,  110. 

Rawdon,  Lady  Charlotfe,  Curran's  lines  to, 
310. 

Rebellion  of  Ninety-eight,  234;  its  causes, 
235;  organization  of,  238;  training  of 
tje  masses,  241  ;  aided  by  the  French, 
243;  the  Government  and  the  gentry 
against  the  people,  244;  the  conspiracy 
fomented  by  the  Executive,  250 ;  put 
down  by  sunmiary  and  sanguinary 
means,  252 ;  alarm  of  the  legislative 
body  at,  i>r.3. 

Regency  question,  134 ;  Pitt's  plan  of  re- 
strictions, 139. 

Repartee  of  the  lower  Irish-  67. 

Revolution  of  1688,  effects  of,  91. 

Reynolds,  Thomas,  the  Miformer,  293 ;  hia 
character  as  a  youth,  294 ;  i  is  reward, 
ib.;  cross-examined  by  Curran,  296;  hi» 
presence  of  mimd,  800, 


tNDEJt. 


6S5 


ficbinson,  Judge,  Curran's  contest  with,  70. 

Roche,  Sir  Boyle,  defence  of  the  Pension 
List,  113;  attack  on  Curran  in  Parlia- 
ment, 147  ;  is  replied  to,  149. 

Rowan,  Arcljibald  Hamilton  ;  joins  the 
United  Irishmen,  16!*;  indicted  for  pub- 
lishing a  seditious  libel,  170;  eloquently 
defended  by  Curran,  ih.  ;  conviction,  im- 
prisonment, and  escape,  175. 

•^..  Leger,  Hon.  Captain,  assaults  an  aged 
priest.  74;  duel  with  Curran,  75;  his 
death,  76. 

g«'otland,  Curran's  eulogy  on,  300. 

Screw,  monlis  of  the,  80. 

Sheares,  Henry  and  John,  255 ;  join  the 
Rebel  party,  and  are  betrayed  and  arres- 
ted, 266;  brought  to  trial,  i7'.;  Curran's 
speech  for,  267  ;  conviction,  288;  useless 
appeal  to  the  Court,  ib.  ;  letters  270  and 
271 ;  execution,  272. 

Sheridan's  wit  compared  with  Curran's,  502. 

Sirr,  JIajor,  prosecutes  John  Hevey,  332  ; 
trial  at  law  for  damages,  336. 

Stack,  ReT.  Richard,  letters  from  Curran 
to,  7. 


Tandy,  Napper,  leads  the  popular  party  ir 
Lord  Mayor'j  election,  159  ;  trial  of,  320. 

Toler,  John  ;  see  Lord  Norhury. 

Tone,  Theobald  Wolfe,  reputed  author  of 
United  Irishmen's  Constitution,  239  : 
his  efforts  to  bring  French  troops  into 
Ireland,  243;  trial  of,  311  ;  captured  in  a 
French  ship,  312  ;  justifies  his  conduct, 
313;  condemnation  and  suicide,  315  ;  his 
career,  317. 

Union,  Act  of,  passed  by  the  baseness  and 

treachery  of  the  Irish  Legislature,  108 
"United  Irishmen,"  239. 

Volunteers,  the  Irish,  96 ;  described  by 
Cui-ran,  r'i.  ;  swell  t<:)  an  army  of  80,000 
men,  97;  their  influence  upon  public  mea- 
sures, 98;  obtain  Ireland's  recognition  as 
a  free  nation,  99  ;  not  a  Prot»"*>C!t  Aaso* 
ciation,  102. 

Wake,  Scene  at  a,  53. 

Weston,  Rev.   Henry,  Curran's  lett*  \>  to, 

18  ;  Poem  addressed  to,  34. 
Whig  Clnb,  the  Irish,  238. 
Wulfe,  Arthur,  see  Lord  Kiiwarden, 


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"                 "          rims  and  clasp 2.25 

Little  Crown  of  Jesus. 

Cloth,  gilt  back 30 

"       full  gilt  edges  and  sides 45 

American  morocco,  full  gilt 75 

Turkey  morocco,  extra  and  clasp 2.00 


12  BOOKS  PUBLISHED  AND  FOR  SALE  BY 

The  Catholic  Pocket  Prayer  Book. 

Cloth,  flexible 25 

Levant,     "       60 

Turkey,     "       1.50 

Calf,          "       1.50 

Child's  Daily  Prayer  Book. 

Cloth,  gilt  back 25 

"       full  gilt  sides  and  edges 30 

Imitation  calf,  illuminated  sides 60 

American  morocco,  blocked 75 

Turkey  morocco,  super  extra i.oo 

"              "                     "           and  clasp 1.25 

Flowers  of  Devotion. 

Cloth,  gilt   back 20 

Cloth,  full  gilt  sides  and  edges 35 

American  morocco,  full  gilt 60 

blocked 75 

"                "                    "       rims  and   clasp 1.25 

Christian's  Guide  to  Heaven. 

Cloth,  gdt  back 50 

Cloth,  extra,  full  gilt 75 

American  morocco,  full  gilt i.oo 


u  a 


gilt  and  clasp 1.25 

*'               "             blocked 1.75 

''                 "                   "          rims  and  clasp 2.25 

Turkey  morocco'  antique 2.25 

The  Catholic  Vade  Mecum. 

Cloth,  gilt  back 50 

Clotli,  full  gilt 75 

Morocco  tuck,  gilt  edges i.oo 

New  Manual  of  the  Sacred  Heart. 

Cloth,  extra,  gilt  edges 50 

Levant  morocco,  red  or  gilt  edges 75 

"               "          embossed  sides i.oo 

American  morocco,  blocked,  rims  and  clasps 2.00 


THE  UNION    CATHOLIC    PUBLISHING   CO.         13 
St.  John's  Manual. 

Roan,  embossed,  sprinkled  edges 1,50 

American  morocco,  gilt  edges  and  center 2.50 

"  "  "         "       and  clasp 3.00 

"  "         full  gilt  sides  and  edges 3.00 

Manual  of  the  Crucifixion.    241110. 

Cloth,  sprinkled  ed^^es 63 

"       gilt  edges  and  cross 75 

"         "         "  ''       clasp 1. 00 

American  morocco,  full  gilt  sides  and  edges i.oo 

"  "  new  block i.oo 

French  morocco,  block  panel 2.00 

rims  and  clasj) 2.50 


((  ie 


Crown  of  Jesus,    '^^mo. 

Cloth I.oo 

Roan,  embossed,  sprinkled  edges 1.25 

American  morocco,  gilt  center  and  edges 1.75 

"  "  full  gilt  sides  and  edges 2.00 


<(  fi  a  a  u 


rims  and  clasp  2.50 

Pocket   Key  of   Heaven.     48mo.     For  young  people,  with  36  illustra 

tions  of  the  mass. 

Cloth 25 

"     gilt  cross  and  back ^o 

"     full  gilt  sides  and  edges 40 

American  morocco,  blocked .  .* go 

rims  and  clasp 1.25 


«  (C  l( 


Manual  of  the  Blessed  Trinity. 

Cloth,  sprinkled  edges i.oo 

Roan,  embossed,  gilt  cross 1.25 

American  morocco,  gilt  center  and  edges i.yt 

"               "             full  gilt  edges  and  sides 2.00 

clasp 2.50 

4 


14  BOOKS   PUBLISHED  AND  FOR  SALE  BY 

Little  Manual  of  the  Blessed  Trinity. 

Cloth,  sprinkled  edges. 75 

Roan,  embossed,  gilt  cross i.oo 

American  morocco,  gilt  center  and  edges 1.25 

"                "                  "              "         "       rims  and  clasp  1.75 
Manual  of  the  Children  of  Mary.    32mo. 

Cloth,  plain 50 

"       red  edges,  and  gilt  sides 75 

Turkey  moroceo,  extra 2.00 

Seraphic  Manual. 

Cloth 75 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 

This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


PfC'D  LD-URL 


Form  L9-50m-7, '54(5990)444 


'1J 


University  o1  Calitorraa.  Los  A"9eles 


L  005  846  183  1 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA    000  394  051 


